


We will never be afraid again

by gealach



Series: We shall burn [6]
Category: Dark Wolverine (Comics), Marvel (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Family, Frottage, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mention of Rape/Non-con, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealach/pseuds/gealach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Phoenix has risen. As the world changes for the worse, three chance meetings over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta'd** by the amazing, precious [**TheBrilliantDarkness**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrilliantDarkness/pseuds/TheBrilliantDarkness).
> 
> A reminder: this work strays happily from canon. More precise information about that can be found in the series' description ^_^

1.

“When we first came here  
We were cold and we were clear,  
With no colors on our skin  
We were light and paper thin.  
And when we first came here  
we were cold and we were clear,  
With no colors on our skin  
'Til we let the spectrum in.”

Florence + the Machine – _Spectrum_

 

 

**2016**

 

It was the first field mission after he had become the damn Phoenix and he was nervous.

No, dammit. He wasn't nervous; he was terrified. Terrified of fucking it all up, the Avengers coming to save the day, with their smug looks and “ _told you so_ ”attitudes. All they were waiting for was for him to make a mistake or kill someone – he knew that. It was a damn miracle the whole affair hadn't turned out as it had years before, with them attacking the X-Men without even wondering if the situation could have been resolved otherwise.

But oh, show up they had. With their concerns and mutterings about world security, S.H.I.E.L.D. just behind. As if he had a choice. Hey, he hadn't even _asked_ for this! The Phoenix was supposed to be gone, too; but he had always known it would show up again, he had always known at the back of his mind, since when he had seen his adult self. His _annoying, scary_ adult self. It stood to reason that if his adult self was alive and kicking and wasn't being _restrained_ years from now, he himself wasn't to become a menace.

That was what Logan and Storm and all the adults had told Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. when they had shown up. Quentin had been shivering and terrified in Beast's lab by then, all that power surging in his veins and filling him with the desire to burn everything. But he had managed to keep it together, Rachel helping him focus, Psylocke adding some mental shields to his mind for good measure. Of course, none of it would have worked if he hadn't been able to control himself on his own. Rachel had even mused about that; it was strange, she had said, that the Phoenix had chosen a host like him; yes, he _had_ been a host that time when he had been floating between life and death – but the Phoenix had rejected him then, so for it to reach for him again was strange. It had brought his mind back to that day, years before, to his strange dream while he waited for Daken to recover from his coma. He had ruled it out as something brought up by the stress of the day before, but the intrusive presence of the Phoenix had been different, strange, out of place. It had seemed external – which had been creepy to think, because the idea of cosmic entities spying on your dreams was terrifying. So he had decided not to think about that anymore (about the whole dream, really – it had been kind of fucked up). But then the Phoenix had shown up out of the blue, possessing him, whispering hungry thoughts, and all had come back to his mind.

He had been restrained for months, Beast doing test after test. It had been horrible, S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists coming every now and then to check on him, till the day it had been decided that he apparently _was_ able to keep the Phoenix restrained.

Those months had been so _dull_. Only Idie's presence had kept him from dying of boredom. And his friends coming to visit every now and then, too, but not too much, because he was _dangerous_. And Evan – Evan hadn't shown up _once_. He knew why; this was a nightmare come true, the proof the Brotherhood hadn't lied when they had come to the school that time – but they knew that already, didn't they? Idie had told him Evan had taken to brooding in his room for hours on end. He was kind of worried about that.

Evan wasn't even on the plane right now, and that worried him, too; it was to be a simple thing, just for him to prove he was more that capable not to pull a Broccoli incident suddenly. An anonymous tip-off about some criminals holding young mutants captive in Tokyo. He had checked the area to see if the information was true, if there was a concentration of mutants in the indicated area, and he hadn't even needed the aid of Cerebro for that; and then off they had gone. It was the usual team, reunited again: he and Idie, and Broo and Trevor and Iara. Evan's absence stung, yes, but they would have to live with it for now and focus on the mission. It would be quick and painless.

But Rachel had gone with them, to keep an eye on him, ready to take him down if needed. Which was scary and kinda hot.

They arrived during the night and landed on the building itself, the Blackbird being invisible. Their stealthy descent from the plane was ruined by someone waiting for them, a figure crouched low in the shadows with a posture that reminded Quentin painfully of Daken.

But this wasn't Daken; as they approached warily, the person went to their feet, revealing themselves to be a lithe woman, face obscured behind what appeared to be a traditional Japanese mask and wrapped in a ninja-like costume.

“There are guards this way,” she said, and her voice was terribly young. Was she a _kid?_ “I thought you would have been more careful, considering how famous you are.”

He tried to scan her immediately and sensed Rachel do the same, but she had one of those damned new telepathy-blocking chips implanted on her; he could only sense surface thoughts and see themselves through her eyes, shadows in the barely lit rooftop. Idie and Iara walked towards her, Iara reverting from shark to human form, both of them sensing her young age.

“Who are you?” Rachel asked.

“I'm but a shadow!” There was a shrill adolescent thrill in her voice. God, she was _very_ young. “Akki, at your service.” She took a bow.

 _Akki?_ Quentin felt a pain in his chest.

But this was ridiculous. He had to stay focused.

Rachel furrowed her brows. “Was it you that called us?” She asked, as Trevor checked the perimeter. Broo was busy with his scientific parafernalia. Idie flashed a reassuring smile at the masked girl.

“No.”

They all exchanged glances. “Do you know who did?”

“Yes.”

“Did they send you here?”

“Nu-uh. Hey, he's going to kill me. But I figured you would have needed help! Can I help?”

This _he_ wouldn't really kill her, evidently, or she wouldn't have said that in such a light tone. She didn't seem to be worried.

“How old are you?” Quentin asked.

“Why? Is there an age limit? I know _everything_ about you, you know. You X-Men throw _kids_ into danger. I'm older than some of you were when you began, okay?”

Cheeky.

Painfully honest.

And too young.

“You can tell us from where we can get inside,” Quentin said, knowing that everyone would agree with him, “But that's it. Then you'll go home, kid.”

She crossed her arms and held her chin high. “I'll follow you anyway. Isn't it best if I tag along?”

“Listen, kid –” Quentin fought the urge to just make her fall asleep right on spot. “I get it, you want to help, but this is dangerous.”

“Which is why you can't have me follow along. You have to bring me with you!” She flashed a grin.

Iara groaned. “Whatever. Let her. We're wasting our time. I'll keep an eye on her.”

“I'm perfectly capable –”

“Shush, kid.” Iara turned to sharkform again, baring her teeth. The girl didn't even flinch. One had to admire her nerves of steel: Iara was imposing and scary in her mutated form.

Rachel waved her hands. “All right, kid. Where?”

She flashed a grin and motioned for them to follow. She was quick and agile, her steps light on the roof as she led them into the building. There _were_ guards, but she led the group past them with ease, Quentin shielding them with his mind. She led them through stairs and corridors, always knowing when and where to pause to avoid the guards doing their rounds; it was obvious she knew the layout of the building perfectly. She led them to the floor where the children were held and Quentin put to sleep the guards standing outside the biggest door. It led to a dormitory: there were a dozen children, each in a bed, all restrained and heavily drugged, moaning as they entered the room. As they walked quickly among the beds, waking them up, Quentin did a quick mental scan and realised only _then_ that Akki _wasn't_ a mutant. He stared at her from afar as she lightly shook a tiny kid, talking quietly to her.

She wasn't a mutant. She was risking her life for these children and she wasn't even a mutant. Human heroes didn't do it, normally. Not _anymore_ , Quentin recalled, seething. And she wasn't even a hero – she was a _kid_ dressed up like an adult. What was she thinking?

Rachel was gathering the kids. “Is there someone else? Do you know if there's someone else?”

“They don't understand you,” said the girl, and she repeated Rachel's questions in Japanese. He could have done it too, but his spoken Japanese was awful. He had been studying it, but Hisako said it wasn't good at all. She had been helping him, and, though she sensed the motivation behind it, she had never questioned his will to learn it, and had been completely nonjudgmental about it.

The girl hissed. “One girl down with the pimp.”

“The _pimp?_ ” Rachel repeated. Quentin realised with dread that this was some kind of _prostitution_ trade for clients with a mutant kink. And the children were all so young –

“ _Jesus,_ ” Trevor hissed, and it wasn't just for the scarring wrongness of that. “Security sensors. They know we're here.”

“All right, kid, ask them where the girl is. Trevor, Quentin, with me. The rest of you,” Rachel motioned towards the girls and Broo, “Bring the children to the Blackbird. We'll be right behind you. Girl?”

Akki looked up from where she had been comforting one of the littlest children. “Two floors down.”

“All right. Go with them.”

“No _way_ ,” she said viciously.

“Kid –”

“I know the layout. I can take you there quickly.”

“There's no time for this.”

“Exactly! _Chikushou_. Stubborn gaijin!” She stormed off without waiting for them, forcing them to follow. She was quicker now, light steps almost impossible to follow. She had an innate grace about her, moving as if performing some dance whose tempo they could not hear. Again, Quentin was reminded of Daken.

 _Stop it_. No time for sick nostalgia.

They reached the floor. Rachel put the guards to sleep as Quentin burned the door to ashes. The sight he was met with was the stuff of nightmares; the kid inside was brutally, horribly young, but Quentin didn't manage to have a good look at the man rolling on his back and covering himself in a haste as the girl, Akki, stormed inside, produced two blades from God-knew- _where –_ had they been hidden in her _forearms? –_ and threw them at the man. The force of the motion was enough for them to bury themselves in the man's thigh.

“Jesus Christ,” Rachel muttered, and she went quickly to the young girl on the bed and wrapped her in a blanket as the man wailed. Akki _snarled_ , bent down and procured two new blades from her calves – yes, now Quentin could see that she had them tied closely to her body. Alarmed by what she could be thinking to do, he caught her in his arms, set on restraining her.

“Calm down, kid,” he said as she struggled. “Calm _down_.”

She fought viciously, uttering a string of Japanese too quick for him to follow, but he did manage to catch a few insults here and there. “Calm down, I said calm _down!_ ” Quentin told her, but she didn't heed him.

“ _Sack of shit, scum, bastard –_ ” something unintelligible, “ _Thought you could –_ ” too quick to discern; he really had to restart his lessons with Hisako. Rachel was leading the little girl away. Trevor was waiting outside, guns ready and eyes alert to everything in the corridor. “ _Oh, you're done, you're_ finished _, how dared you open this kind of business? You thought you would have been left alone?_ ” She was articulating clearly and slowly now, that was why Quentin could suddenly understand her. It seemed almost a threat, and sure as hell the man was reacting as if it were, freezing as a deer caught in carlight, eyes widening, wailing stopping. 

“ _Who are you?_ ” he asked, and then blanched; “ _Oh, no. Please no, please_ no _, no, they told me I could –_ ”

“ _They told you wrong!_ ”

Rachel was at the door, her arms around the young girl.

“Let's go. Incapacitate that bastard, we'll alert the authorities.” 

Quentin nodded at her and was about to turn towards the man again, and it all happened so fast:

“Watch out!” Trevor said, and Akki disentangled herself from Quentin with a move that would have left him impressed if he had had the time to, and a shot echoed in the room, followed by a wet noise and a pained scream from _Akki._ When Quentin's head completed its turning motion, the man was falling on his back on the bed, the girl's blades in his eyes, a gun in his hand.

_ Jesus. Jesus. _ Blades in the man's  _ eyes _ ; Akki had thrown them. He looked down at her: she was still in throwing position, arms just now lowering, and she was shaking badly.  _ Oh, God  _ – she had killed him.

The man had had time to shoot; blood was dripping from Akki's left hand. They needed to check her, apply something – on her own initiative, she went quickly at the bed and tore apart a sheet. When Quentin's body finally reacted and he moved and then reached her, she had already wrapped her hand in a simple bandage.

Heavy, shocked silence fell in the room. Quentin wondered what the girl was thinking, if she was asking herself whether she could have stopped the man some other way – Trevor was the one to stir them to action again, speaking in a stunned whisper:

“We need to go.” 

Quentin put a hand on the girl's shoulder, but she snarled and turned, shoving it away. “Deserved it. Let's go, I'll guide you upstairs.” There was steel in her voice, but she was still trembling. How young was she, really? This had gone horribly wrong. As she passed, the little girl still in Rachel's arms hesitantly raised a hand in her direction, and Akki smiled at her, her lips visible from beneath her mask. She caught her hand, speaking soothingly in Japanese as she led her away.

They followed the two girls; they couldn't have done anything else. The three of them exchanged glances; Quentin still saw the scene as in slow motion in his mind. The man had used a gun because Akki had been saying things that had frightened him enough to try and escape the situation, even if he was outnumbered. Who had he been trying to shoot at? Akki or Quentin? Could it be Akki?

This would be a  _ diplomatic mess _ . He agreed with the girl – the man had deserved it. Quentin himself would have burned him alive had he had the chance and he certainly wouldn't have felt remorse; but, nonetheless, this was a murder that had gone down during one of  _ their _ operations. During an  _ X-Men _ 's operation. A  _ mutants _ ' operation, as if they hadn't been enough in trouble already; he could already see the headlines,  _ vigilante mutants murdering again _ – And the girl, what would happen to the girl? They had to bring her to safety. She needed medical attention, and she had to be shocked now: she had just killed a man.

They reached the rooftop; Iara was waiting for them in her sharkform, and sniffed and retreated quickly to human as they approached. She must have smelled Akki's blood.

She motioned towards them. “All safe and belted. Shall we go?” They would bring the kids to the school, they would take care of them, and then they would try to find their families. God, this would really be a nightmare, they had to put an alert up that there was a body in the building –

Rachel looked at the two girls; the one who had been kidnapped was shaking and clinging to Akki. “It's going to be alright,” Rachel said quietly, “Could you tell her it's going to be alright?”

Akki turned to the kid and said, “ _ Go with these people, they'll help you and contact your parents. Everything will be alright soon, I promise. _ ”

“ _Aren't you coming?_ ” The kid whined.

“ _No, I'm sorry_.” She squeezed lightly the kid's shoulder, “ _Go on, go with them. Go with the shark lady_.” She motioned to Iara. Hesitantly, sniffing, the kid hugged Akki tightly and then turned towards Iara, following her into the Blackbird. Trevor went after them.

When they were gone, he and Rachel turned towards Akki.

“Listen,” Rachel began, very quietly, “Can we bring you home?”

“No, thank you.”

“You're hurt.”

“I'll manage.” She was ready to bolt, Quentin knew, chin held high. She wasn't showing pain or fear. She had to be terrified, though. On the surface, Quentin sensed a whirlwind of emotions, too quick to discern. She was worried and in mild pain.

“How old are you?”

“I'm old enough.”

“You're young,” interjected Quentin, “We have the duty to at least bring you to safety.”

“I think I'll pass,” she said cheerfully, “No offense.”

“Kid,” Rachel began, and hesitated, “You just – I can't in good conscience let you go.”

“Because I just killed a man? He deserved it.” There was a hint of viciousness in her voice that worried Quentin enough to prod again at the surface of her thoughts and there they were, sure enough, whispers of memories of abuse.

“Does your family,” began Quentin hesitantly, “Do they – do they hurt you, kid?”

“What? _No!_ ” Akki took a step backwards. The shock in her voice seemed genuine enough, and there was outrage too. “My otousan would never harm me!”

“All right,” said Rachel, her hands coming up, smiling reassuringly and apologetically, “All right, we're sorry, Quentin didn't mean to offend you. But we need to bring you back home, and we need to speak with your – otousan? It's your father, right?”

“Nu-uh, no way, I'm sorry,” the kid was shaking her head. There was a zigzag of thoughts in her mind, a view of rooftops, she was –

She was calculating the trajectory.

“Listen,” Quentin began, and she bolted to the right in a swift sprint, the fastest he had ever seen – and then she was in the air, and then on the rooftop of the nearest building. She landed with a roll and then was back on her feet, and the fluid motions had taken just a few seconds. _Jesus_ , he thought with admiration, watching her run across the other rooftop.

“Well,” said Rachel. “Could you...?”

He took flight, going the girl's direction.  _ What are we going to do, exactly? _

_She just killed a man._

_ I saw it too, Rachel. _ He grimaced.

_See her to safety. Try to talk to her. If you find her parents, talk to them too, tell them –_

_ Of course, it's obvious. _

He adjusted his flight. The kid was meters below him, and she didn't seem to have noticed she was being followed, dancing on the rooftops with the same grace and speed she had displayed earlier. He could see, even from this far, that she was extremely careful when she landed, that she avoided using her injured hand, but hadn't he known she had been shot he would have never guessed. She shouldn't be moving at _ all _ , though. Quentin hoped she would reach her destination soon. 

He continued to check on her from the air. Quentin didn't know why – the thought was surely ludicrous – but she reminded him strongly of Daken, of the way he seemed to almost dance when he fought. It was little things, like the way she bent or crouched before a leap. He knew because he had watched everything that he had found at the time Hiro was at the school, when he was searching for something to show him, and his grace was mimicked by this girl, the way her body moved was eerily similar –

_Quentin, while your fantasies are those of a healthy young man your age, I don't need to have a slow motion of Logan's son. Not now._

Quentin felt his cheeks burning.  _ Uh, Rachel –  _

_ Yes, yes, I have eyes too. He's an attractive man. Focus on that girl, please. _ _ We're in the air, call if you need backup. _

Jesus. Was he so obsessed that he thought of the man even whilst on mission? Daken had disappeared, too – it wasn't as if Quentin knew where he was, even if he would have wanted to. Once, a year before, he had worked up the courage to ask Logan whether he knew where his son was, but Logan had sighed heavily over his beer and said he didn't know. Quentin had expected Logan to seek him out; at the time he'd asked the question, Daken had disappeared from the surface of the earth for two  _ years _ already. Wasn't Logan  _ worried? _ At his question, Logan had told him he had  _ promised _ Daken not to go looking for him. And then he had squinted his eyes at him and asked the reason of his interest. What could have he said?  _ I'm worried about your son, he disappeared, what if he's hurt, what if he's dead, what if he needs you, what if he needs me? _ Daken was an  _ adult _ , not a child in need of help – he wasn't Hiro – but Quentin couldn't help but have these thoughts, every now and then. He knew it wasn't right,  knew that Daken would be downright insulted by the worrying . When he had worked up the courage to tell Beast about it, he had said it was normal, that he had formed a pretty strong bond with Hiro, after all, and that that was probably it. And he had advised Quentin, quietly, to talk about this with someone else if he thought this was too much for him.

But with who? Idie? Idie didn't want to talk about Daken: she was still pissed about the accident with Broo. Broo had never been the same after the attack on the school, having developed a new violent streak. Oh, he was still kind and gentle – he wouldn't have been Broo otherwise – but he had embraced his Brood nature, he had learnt to do the dirty work without remorse.

No; Idie loved Quentin dearly, but Daken was a topic that irked her.

And he was on mission now, anyway.  _ Focus, Quentin. Jeez. _ He contacted Rachel again.  _ How are the kids? _

_ Iara and Idie are with them. They're –  _ he could almost see Rachel close her eyes in disgust and pity. _ We'll take care of them. _

_Have you contacted the authorities?_

_As soon as we are outside their space. I don't want to risk them approaching us. There's something fishy going on here._

_ The man said that he had been allowed to open his business. _ Quentin kept his eyes on the girl. She was slowing down.  _ But he talked as if it was something he shouldn't have done _ .

_Well, this is something their police must take care of. We'll say what we know, but I want out of here. These children need help first._

_ You could go to Madripoor, it's closer. _ Mystique would certainly open the borders to a group of children in need, even if they were brought in by them.

_ We'll see, Quentin.  _ Ah, as if. They wouldn't do it, Quentin knew that. They really needed to work past the rivalries. Mystique was doing something  _ important  _ for mutants; didn't they see that? Hell, yes, she had been and was still a  _ terrorist _ , but she was providing a safe haven, too. That ought to be more important in their eyes; that was more important in  _ his _ eyes.

_ They'll want to know who killed that man. _ What  _ are we going to do about that? _ The kid was on a rooftop now, and had stopped. It wasn't a house: he had expected and hoped it to be, but from this far it appeared to be a warehouse.

_ She's just a  _ kid _. Talk to her parents, see what you can find. We'll cover for her, but I want to know who am I doing that for. _

_ Roger _ . Akki had disappeared; he lowered himself slowly, at the same time reaching for the tendrils of her consciousness to see from her eyes. It was dark; she was going down something, stairs, it seemed – her vision adjusted; yes, now Quentin could see it was stairs.

Quentin's feet touched the roof. He decided to sit for a moment, see what she was going to do, observe her in her environment. If nobody showed up within minutes, he would go inside and try to reason with her, he would try to at least convince her to let herself be brought to a hospital.

She was on the ground, now, probably. Oh, thank  _ goodness _ she was turning on the lights! It was a little space: a couch, a fridge, a closet... maybe it  _ was _ her house? Maybe she and her parents lived in a warehouse. Maybe they were very poor and lived there with other families; it was more than possible.

She was sitting on the couch and raising her arm to look at her injured hand. Through her eyes Quentin saw a little hand remove her mask,  lay it somewhere, and then gingerly touch her palm; she hissed in pain and her fingertips came out covered in blood. It seemed she was debating on what to do; Quentin didn't want to actually force his way through her mind – the chip she carried would have alerted her. The device was the proof, though, that she wasn't poor – unless, perhaps, she had found it somewhere?

The girl was startled suddenly, and Quentin with her, by a male voice.

“ _What were you thinking?_ ” Japanese, clear enough for Quentin to understand it, thankfully. She raised her head and through her eyes Quentin saw her father – 

– hell _no_. No way. Quentin was hallucinating. He _had_ to, because earlier he had been thinking about him; it wasn't possible. Quentin was _hallucinating_ , there was no other explanation –

But it was no hallucination; walking quickly towards her, dressed elegantly in a black suit, long hair brushed neatly and falling on the side of his face, brows furrowed in worry, was  _ Daken _ .

“ _What are you doing here?_ ” Akki asked, and he cocked an eyebrow as he reached the couch and sat on it, catching her arm and lowering his head to look at her hand.

“ _Here, let me see_.”

_ What. What. _ Quentin's mind was a spiral of that sole word. What the hell – what was happening – Quentin stared through the girl's eyes as Daken slowly peeled away the bandage. It came away soaked with blood and Daken's hiss was clearly audible.

“ _Keep it level_.”

She obeyed as he shook his jacket off his shoulders and ripped it apart. Jesus, from the look of it it must have cost  _ thousands _ of dollars. 

“ _That's a_ bullet _entry hole_.”

“ _Yes –_ ”

Daken bandaged her hand quickly and expertly.

“ _You need more delicate hands for this,_ ” he said, and produced a cell phone and tapped quickly on its screen. “ _Do you feel pain?_ ” He asked as he put the cell phone between his ear and his shoulder. He was delicately holding her wrist.

“ _I'm fine –_ ”

“ _Don't lie._ ”

“ _I'm fine. It's my fault_.”

“ _I bet it is._ ” Daken cocked an eyebrow, then raised a hand to shush her. “ _I need your best surgeon in two-seven-six-nine-six-eleven. Now._ ” He let the cell phone slid off his shoulder down the couch. “What _were you thinking?_ ”

“ _Wait,_ wait, _how do you know this place?_ ”

“ _Are you really asking_ me –? _Ah, you're unbelievable._ ” Daken shook his head, a _smile_ on his face. It was tiny and kind of _affectionate_ , too, and to Quentin it appeared terribly out of place. What was happening? “ _Did you really think I didn't know about you running off during the night? Did you think there wasn't anybody keeping an eye on you, ready to intervene if something happened to you? Akki?_ ” He caught her mask, trailed his fingers over it. They left a trace of her blood. “ _It's almost as if you chose the name on purpose,_ ” he murmured absentmindedly.

“ _Well, it_ is _a play on Aki._ ”

“ _I'll choose to be flattered, then_.” He set the mask down on the couch. “ _Because I'm furious right now._ ” He looked up at her, and there was ice in his voice. “ _What_ possessed _you to run with a wound like this?_ ”

“ _I –_ ”

“ _You ran, don't you_ dare _lie._ ”

“ _I was with the X-Men and – I had to, they wanted to bring me home –_ ”

“ _You should have let them_.”

“ _But they would have seen you, and –_ ”

“ _You don't need to worry about that_.” Daken was looking at her, face set and voice firm, and Quentin realised he was _scolding_ her. It was all so incongrous, as if Quentin were watching something out of Logan's fantasies maybe, all domestic and worried. “I _would have worried about that. You were_ hurt. _You needed medical attention and should have allowed them to help you. Damage control. You're way smarter than this. What –_ ” He passed a hand though his hair, staring at her, brows furrowed again. “ _What_ happened?”

“ _I killed a man_ ,” the girl said quietly.

Daken blinked. Twice. Then: “ _What happened?_ ” he said, quieter still.

“ _It was the pimp. I was in the building with the X-Men, we went down because there was a girl missing, and he was there with her, you know, he was_ with _her and –_ ” she stopped talking abruptly, staring at the hand she was resting on her legs. Daken put a hand over it. Quentin thought that this was private, that he had no right to see this, but he needed to wait and at least speak with Daken, understand the situation to report back. God, what would the others say? What would Logan say? This was so strange... the girl had talked about her _otousan_. Was it _Daken?_ It made no sense, and yet here he was! And he was so quiet and preoccupied.

“ _He shot, but I got him first. I killed him_.” She stared up at Daken. “ _He deserved it._ ”

Daken shook his head, on his face an expression Quentin couldn't quite work out. For a fraction of a second pride had seemed to flash in his eyes, but now they were almost expressionless. “ _What have you done?_ ” he said quietly, and the words hid an oncoming storm.

“ _The blades are untraceable, don't worry –_ ”

“ _I don't_ care _if the blades are untraceable!_ ” Daken snapped, “ _They could lead straight to me for all I care!_ _I care that you weren't_ ready _for this, you got_ hurt, _and for_ what? _Why did you go there in the first place?_ ”

“ _I thought I could help them –_ ”

“ _You thought you could what?_ ” Daken stared at her, disbelief all over his face. “ _You thought you could_ what?”

“ _I thought that I could help them! And I was right, they wouldn't even have found the last girl if I hadn't been with them. They didn't even bother to bring an interpreter!_ ”

“ _So since your vigilante nights weren't so exciting after all, you decided to use information I'd given you and go play hero?_ ” Daken said. He seemed furious, his nostrils flared, his lips a thin line.

“ _I wasn't playing –_ ”

“ _Shut up._ ” Daken shut his eyes for the longest moment. “ _So this is what you do with my trust?_ ” he said, eyes still closed. Quentin wanted to reach him and hold his hand. Didn't the stupid girl see he was distressed and worried about her? “ _Are you a child, must I hide everything from you not to have you run around and put yourself in_ danger?”

“ _I wasn't in danger –_ ”

“ _You got shot!_ ” Daken snapped his eyes open. They were cold and angry. “ _Don't play stupid when I know full well the extent of your intelligence. Don't play dumb with me, do not insult me, do not insult_ yourself! _If you want to be an adult then act like one_.”

“ _Fine, then! I risk getting shot everyday. What's so different about this?_ ”

“ _The difference is that you went out of your way to get killed. Have you a_ death wish? _Help them? The X-Men didn't need help. They're more than capable of doing what they were doing. But you wanted to play hero –_ ”

“ _I said I wasn't playing! I was doing something important!_ ”

“No!” Daken shouted, pale-faced, and Quentin thought he seemed furious beyond measure. He didn't know at what point he should intervene, he didn't know their dynamics. The girl didn't seem scared, she wasn't backing away. “ _No you_ weren't, _do you know what you were doing?_ ” Daken pointed at his forehead, his finger pushing on the bone. “ _You painted a_ bullseye _here. Right here, big and nice. Do you know how_ stupid _it is? Now they know that here there's a girl who fancies herself a superhero. A young girl, oh dear, she must be unsupervised. She killed someone, she must be confused, we need to_ save _her._ ” His features contorted with emotion. Quentin could only guess what he was thinking about. “ _And they'll search for you, because this is what they do. They think the only way is theirs. Most of them do. Most of them push and push till they get what they want, they don't care. They'll only want to change you. And they'll drag you down in their lives –_ ”

“ _You're scared they'll take me away_ ,” said the girl quietly, and Daken stopped his tirade and stared at her like a deer caught in carlight. “ _I wouldn't let them._ ” She held a hand out to him. He didn't take it.

“ _Don't make this about me_.” He looked away. “ _This is about you_.”

“ _Well you're obviously worried, but you don't need to be!_ ”

“ _I don't need to be?_ ” He turned towards her again, more composed than earlier. “ _You've drawn the attention of the X-Men. You – why did you have to do that, why did you have to mingle with them? Do you know how dangerous it is?_ ”

“ _It isn't more dangerous than what you do_.”

“ _It's a million times more dangerous. Why did you do it?_ ”

“ _I had to do something. Someone had to do something –_ ”

“ _Someone had to do something?_ ” Daken repeated. There was something in his voice – confusion, perhaps, at her words.

“ _Those poor children, you should have seen them, they were so small! You –_ you _should have done something!_ ” And that was the accusation she had been clutching onto during the conversation, Quentin could feel it in her throat. He tensed on the rooftop as Daken stared at her as if she had said something entirely strange.

“ _I_ did _. I warned the X-Men,_ ” he said calmly, and _What_ , thought Quentin, but of course it made sense, he hadn't been surprised when, at the beginning of the conversation, she had said she had been with them, and on the roof of the brothel she had said she knew who had warned them.

“Yes, _but you should have done more, you should have brought someone in_ earlier!”

Daken cocked his head to the side. “ _You seem to be under the impression I'm a bloody hero. I'm not_.”

“ _But you saved_ me _._ ”

“ _I did what I could_ ,” Daken shook his head, “ _They came as soon as they could. They saved the children. The children are safe now, I made sure of it, I know they're with them_.”

“ _You should have done more! Auntie's right, you don't care about mutants –_ ”

“ _Auntie?_ ” Daken furrowed his brows. “ _You call her auntie? How gullible are you?_ ”

“ _I –_ ”

“ _You're way smarter than this_.” He caught her hand. “ _You think she's your friend? You think she's nice? She's a predator. She doesn't like you. You're only human and you're_ cattle _to her. Don't trust her. Ever. Swear to me you'll never trust her._ ” There was urgency in his voice, it was hushed and strained. Who were they talking about? “ _I mean it. Don't fall for her, ever._ ”

“ _I – I promise,_ ” she stammered.

“ _I_ mean _it. I'm serious. Don't you ever fall for her words_.” His face was ashen. “ _You think I play with words? She's better. If she knew you eavesdrop, she'd use that too. Because you were eavesdropping, weren't you?_ ”

“ _You talk about important things. And I'm an adult, and –_ ”

“ _No you_ aren't.”

“ _I am! And she's right! You don't care, you could do so much more!_ ”

Daken shook his head. “ _I do all I can_.”

“ _That's not true! Those kids, those kids stayed in that place for days, if you had intervened sooner they would have been out sooner, even a few hours less in that nightmare would have meant something! You have no idea of what – of what_ that _feels like –_ ”

“ _And you assume that how?_ ” His eyes were steely hard, but then they softened. “ _I'm not in the habit of having my decisions_ questioned _and I won't start now. I did what I could; I'm sorry if you feel this way –_ ”

“ _You didn't do what you could! And I heard her, I heard horrible things, that's your_ people _whose life's on the line!_ ”

“ _That's not my battle and it certainly isn't yours –_ ” Daken said calmly, but she interrupted him.

“ _Well it should be! Since you obviously don't care!_ ”

“ _If you insist on this, I could very well forbid you to go running around in that costume of yours_.”

“ _You wouldn't!_ ” She was outraged – Quentin could hear it in the way her voice was trembling – but she was standing her ground. This little girl was amazing. “ _You said you always had my back, always!_ ”

“ _I won't_ let _you make self-destructive choices –_ ”

“ _Someone has to fight and I want to help! For Eike, too –_ ”

“ _This is_ not _your battle. The sooner you understand this, the better._ ”

“ _I want to help –_ ”

“ _You could get yourself killed –_ ”

“ _I don't care –_ ”

“ _What's so_ difficult _to understand?_ ” Daken snapped, pale-faced. “ _I won't have you mingling in_ mutant _business, I won't have you risk your life with_ mutants! _You have_ no chances _against mutants!_ ”

“ _I can fight –_ ”

“ _You aren't a mutant!_ ” Daken shouted.

“ _And you're not my father!_ ” She screamed, and Daken's features crumbled into something that was utterly painful to watch, the muscles twitching as if he had lost all control of them. _Ah, shit_ , thought Quentin, and he would have wanted to run down the building and hold him, damn these residual protective instincts on his behalf, he wasn't a child, he wasn't Hiro anymore, _Stop it, Quentin, damn it, stop it,_ stop _it, stop it,_ but Daken looked so _lost –_

His features went smooth suddenly, his eyes blank, and Quentin cursed under his breath.

“ _Of course I'm not_ ,” he said, voice flat, “ _I know I'm not_.” He looked down at her hand. 

The girl must have realised what she had said, the change in Daken's face too shocking for her, because she said hesitantly, “ _I didn't mean –_ ”

“ _I shouldn't have distressed you like this_.” He was still, rather obstinately, staring at her hand. “ _You should stay relaxed till they_ _patch you up_.” He got up.

“ _I didn't_ mean _–_ ” She stared up at Daken, trying to meet his eyes.

“ _I know what you meant_. _Don't worry_.” Daken looked at her, and smiled. It was more of a pained grimace, and oh, Quentin thought, _oh_ , there was so much love in those eyes that it was excruciating to behold. “ _Are you comfortable? Do you need another cushion?_ ”

“ _I – I'm fine. I –_ ”

“ _Good_ ,” he said cheerfully. “ _I'll wait outside, then. Call me if you need anything._ ” He turned.

“ _Wait! I –_ ”

“ _I'll hear you. You know I'll always hear you_.” With that, he walked away, the girl so distressed it was becoming a buzz in Quentin's ears, her mind leaking through. Nauseated, Quentin snapped out of her head, finding himself on the rooftop again. He felt the need to retch.

He went to his feet, stumbling, and ran to the border of the rooftop. He needed to see Daken, talk to him. He had to; it wasn't some egoistical need, even if he wanted to cheer him up somehow because he knew he was distressed,  _that_ had been clear as day; no, he needed to see him because that had been an order from Rachel. He was on a  _mission_ now – he had to speak to the parents of the girl. This situation was as strange as it could be, but he had to be professional. From what he had gathered, the girl wasn't Daken's, but he seemed to have her under his wing somehow; the girl had said he had saved her.

Quentin walked on the borders, looking down, trying to see from where Daken would have gone out; he circled the building twice before finally seeing him standing in the road below, a few feet from the building. He had crossed his arms and was staring up at the sky; from this angle, Quentin couldn't see his face.  _Damn. Ok, I can do this, I can._

Quentin took flight and slowly lowered himself on the road, giving Daken all the time to smell someone was coming. Would he smell it was him? Would he remember his scent?  _God, Quentin, stop this idiocy._

Daken wasn't turning. When Quentin's feet touched the ground, though, he moved with an agility and swiftness that Quentin remembered all too well – nonetheless, the speed with which he found himself pinned to a wall surprised him. He prepared himself to launch a psychic attack, but held back, waiting to see what would happen – a knee on his groin, an arm pushing on his neck, the tips of the claws mere  _inches_ from his eyes, a snarl just now beginning to echo across the road.

Then, “ _Quentin?_ ”

Daken's arm stayed there on his neck, but the pressure lifted just a tiny bit. Quentin looked at the man in front of him: surprise and puzzlement were on his face, and his eyes were still filled with a maelstrom of emotion.

“Hi?” Quentin said tentatively. Daken had been going for the _killing blow_ , without so much as a sliver of intention of _talking_ with his opponent. Knowing the state he was in, knowing the things he had said, the worry he had expressed, that wasn't a surprise. “Uhm. Nice. Claws. Could you –?”

Daken emitted a sound – a puff of incredulity – and retracted his claws.

He stayed where he was. Still, Quentin could breathe, sort of, and he also could put Daken to sleep in a fraction of a second, and Daken knew that, so –

“You smell different,” Daken said, and Quentin managed to shrug. The position wasn't optimal, but one had to work with what one had.

“It's _eau de phénix_. A must this season.”

And yes, this time he managed to elicit a little huff of laughter. Daken removed his knee from Quentin's groin. “Yes, that's probably it. I heard you were  _confined_ , though.”

“Can't keep me confined for long.”

“I bet.” Daken lowered the arm with which he had been preparing to stab him to a painful death. 

“Oh, nice. Thank you.” The other arm was still on his throat, though. _Um. Um, okayyyy_ –

“I'm glad to see you're fine,” Daken said, looking up at him from beneath his long eyelashes.

“Thank you?” Quentin coughed even as he felt a warmth on his cheeks. “Um, this is nice and all, but could you, you know,” he exhaled, staring down at him, and – _Oh, wait a second_ – “Ohmygod I'm taller than you!” 

Daken rolled his eyes. They _definitely_ weren't on the same level. Just a few inches. “Yes. You are.”

“Oh my _god_.”

“You're still annoying.” Finally, Daken removed his arm from his throat and took a couple of steps backwards, rotating his shoulders and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.

Quentin bent down, hands on his knees, and coughed, twice, trying to catch his breath. “It's a form of art,” he quoted, and then coughed again. “Oh,  _air_ .” He grinned at Daken. “Breathing, breathing is  _nice_ .”

“It's the small things.” Daken cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh, definitely.” Quentin tried to retain an ounce of aplomb and straightened up. As he was coughing, Daken had been walking backwards slowly, eyes never leaving him, positioning himself in front of the warehouse where the girl was. _Right_.

“What in the name of sanity are you wearing?” Dear god, he was clearly stalling. 

“It's my _costume_ ,” Quentin pouted, giving Daken a moment to decide what he wanted to do. He wasn't going to attack him again, not till he understood what Quentin was here for, but he could certainly guess. What was _Quentin_ going to do? He couldn't pretend he couldn't understand what Daken was worried about; and it seemed he really cared about the girl. Quentin wanted to investigate, but didn't want to enstrange him too much.

“No, it's not. You're going to change it.” Daken wriggled his nose in distaste.

_Really? For real?_ This was deranged. “ _Excuse_ me,” he scoffed.

“I can't. It's horrifying.” Daken gave him a _look_ , like those he elicited sometimes thanks to his most offensive shirts. “What's all this pink? Black's more your color, Quentin. A sleek black. A touch of orange, maybe, or yellow,” he cocked his head to the side. “Not too much.”

“You aren't a designer.”

“Ah, but you said I have _excellent taste_.” He smirked.

He had, hadn't he? When he had showed all those photos and videos of him to Hiro. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well –”

“And for God's sake, _spandex?_ It's for _third-rate_ superheroes.”

“ _You_ wore spandex.”

“Yes, because Logan did. I was impersonating him, remember?” He cocked an eyebrow, “This actually _proves_ my point. Third-rate superheroes.” He cocked his head, as if to say _see?,_ and leaned casually on the door to the warehouse, arms crossed. It was a relaxed posture, but Quentin knew that he was more than capable of springing to motion in a matter of a _millisecond_. “So tell me, Quentin,” Daken said, all suave, “What brings you to this _lovely_ corner of Tokyo?” He glanced around at said corner, consisting mostly of warehouses. 

_Yes, let's address the elephant in the room, shall we?_ Quentin braced himself. He had yet to decide how to approach this. Daken seemed to have calmed down, or maybe he had managed to swipe it all under a carpet for later. 

“I was following someone,” Quentin began.

“Mh. A criminal?” He certainly did the _utterly uninterested_ look well, but Quentin knew he was itching and probably on edge. Would he attack him?

Of course he would. He seemed to be fiercely protective and Quentin was a threat.  _I won't have you mingling in_ mutant  _business, I won't have you risk your life with_ mutants! 

“No. A girl who helped us. I'm, um, I'm with my team.” He pointed at the sky.

“I see.”

“She was hurt, badly, so we got worried, and I followed her.”

There wasn't much light, and they were so distant, Quentin still leaning on the opposite wall, but Daken clearly tensed. Just a tiny bit, but he did.

“I must have lost her, though,” came out of Quentin's mouth. Daken actually _started_ at that, his eyes widening ever so slightly. If he hadn't been focused on them, Quentin wouldn't have noticed. “She was so quick. I got distracted for a second and _bam!_ Vanished.” Daken knew he was lying. Daken could _smell_ he was lying. Daken was _digging his fingers into his arms_ , his face the picture of composure and boredom.

“Pity,” he said.

“Yeah, don't tell me.” Quentin laughed nervously. “Rachel will be furious.” _Fuck, fuck, what am I doing?_ The girl was fine, she was as fine as she could be, she was taken care of, and this wasn't their business. Daken had been so worried, Quentin didn't want to make him think that what he had been so worried about could _happen_. 

“Why, what did she want with this girl?”

“Just be sure she was fine. She bolted away, we didn't even manage to thank her. She was very helpful.” He wasn't going over the top now, was he?

Daken didn't seem to be reacting. “She got hurt, you said?”

“God, yes. I really hope she's safe now.” Quentin debated whether to say it, then he did. Daken clearly looked like he needed it. “I hope she's with her father.”

Daken blinked a couple of times. “Her father?”

“Her _otousan_ , yes. The way she talked about him, he seemed a great guy. I hope she's reached him.”

This was too much, maybe. Daken had to be pissed. Maybe he shouldn't have said these things, maybe he should have been more subtle: Daken already knew he was lying, there was no need to be so overtly comforting and nauseating; maybe he was already wondering whether Quentin had eavesdropped somehow, oh god –

“I'm sure she's fine,” offered Daken, eerily calm. _God, he's going to fall apart right in front of me_. Quentin turned his head to look at the road, wondering when and from where the surgeon Daken had called would have arrived.

“I hope so. Say, what are you doing in this lovely corner yourself?” He kept his gaze firmly trained on the road.

Daken didn't answer right away; Quentin itched to turn, but kept himself still.

“I'm on vacation.” Daken said finally, after what seemed like ages, and Quentin turned to look at him. He was still leaning on the door to the warehouse, the picture of composure. “A trip to rediscover my roots, you know.”

“Oh, nice. A nice thing. Are you staying long?”

“No.”

Quentin nodded. The way they had been talking, it appeared they  _lived_ in Tokyo. He wouldn't put it past Daken to move from there at the speed of light, now. With the girl. He was living with a girl who called him  _father_ , having surgeons at his beck and call in the  _middle of the night_ .

He had – god. Of  _course!_ He  _must_ have. He was a  _boss_ . He had some criminal activity here. And he was parenting.  _Daken_ was  _parenting_ .

“Well, it's good to see you. When I saw you from up there I thought gosh, that looks like Daken, nah, it can't be, but you were! You really disappeared, eh!” He was babbling, oh this was _embarassing_. Daken cocked an eyebrow.

“Why, Quentin, you came down here to see me?” He willingly followed his lead, and there was a hint of a purr in his voice. Quentin blushed crimson.

“Well, you know, you offered a place as evil sidekick, a damn shame you didn't follow through.” Quentin managed to grin without looking like a damn idiot – or, at least, he hoped so. This was all part of Daken's tactics, get someone bothered with some flaring innuendo, but there wasn't anything behind it. He was just trying to reassess the situation in his favor.

“I'd love to corrupt you with my flawless fashion sense and questionable morals, Quentin.” Daken was still leaning on the wall. It occured to Quentin that they were very distant from each other, for Daken's M.O. “Another time, maybe; I have things to do.”

“Of course.”

“But please _swear to me_ you're changing that costume.”

“Oh god, ok, ok. I'll think about it.” Idie had said it looked horrible, too, anyway. Where was their _daring_? Fashion consisted of that, too. “I'll leave you to your things, then.” He took flight.

“Wait.” Almost an aftertought.

Quentin looked at Daken, his feet already floating in the air, a few inches from the ground. “Yes?”

“Could you –” Daken cocked his head to the side, looking up at him. He looked so earnest. “Could you _not_ tell Logan you've seen me? Please?”

_Oh_ . Quentin's feet touched the ground again.  _Oh, wow_ . He was asking. Actually  _asking_ for a favor and the unspoken  _'in addiction to what you're already doing'_ was clear in the way his voice had shaken slightly and hopefully and the end. Of course, of course he was skilled in deception but damn, this seemed so sincere. Quentin wasn't an idiot, but this was relatively harmless, wasn't it?

_But Logan's worried. I know he is_ . He was keeping his promise to Daken and that was so honorable given their history and Logan's tendency to barge into situations, but the way he had sighed heavily when Quentin had asked, he was worried about his son. And. Well. Quentin may have taken a peek at his thoughts every now and then after that conversation.

He took a step towards Daken, and the man took a step backwards, his back pressing on the door to the warehouse.  _Yes, ok, I won't move again._ Quentin stood where he was. “If that's what you want –”

“Please.”

“I'm not going to insist, but I think he'd love to hear from you, you know.”

Daken shook his head slightly. “I'm sure he'd  _love_ to; the question is whether  _I'd_ love to hear from him.”

“Well, sure.” Quentin shuffled his feet. “It's just, you know, this isn't absolutely my business, I know that, I'm just saying what I think, _stop_ me if I annoy you –”

“Please, by all means, speak your mind.” Daken cocked an eyebrow, and he had to be annoyed, Quentin knew that, he knew him enough for that. Still, he was letting him talk – maybe he wanted to see how far Quentin would have wanted to dig into _his_ business? Should he stop? 

“Look, he's worried... But that's not the point.” He wasn't going to guilt trip him and he didn't want Daken to think he _wanted_ to guilt trip him. “What I mean is that I'm sure you want more information in order to make an informed choice, so I'm filling the possible blanks you could have. He's worried sick about you, but he hasn't investigated once about where you could be, I _know_ that because when someone asks him, he says he had promised you he would have left you alone –”

“That's not an accomplishment, that's what he promised to do.” Daken cocked his head. “But you're right in that I want an update on that. For it to be an accomplishment, for me to even begin to consider whether to reach out, as they say, it's still too soon.”

“Oh. So you're considering –”

“Not yet.”

But he  _was_ . Unless he was lying, but it seemed unlikely, it would be a lie that wouldn't have  accomplished anything for him. He was... it was as if he was testing Logan. His patience? His self-control? His willingness to respect Daken's decision?

“We parted ways rather turbulently,” said Daken casually, “Do you know anything about that?”

Oh. Oh, he did care about this. He was being all sneaky but he did. “Yes, he went all drama queen for a while, stayed in his room, refused to speak about it.” Was that relief on Daken's face? Or amusement?

“Really?”

“Yep. Refused categorically to elaborate. I heard some of the profs question him daily. He was – um.” Quentin coughed, recalling the first days, the state Logan had been in when he had reemerged from his rooms. “He was really hurt, I think. You shook him badly.” What had happened when Daken had left the school? What had they talked about? Could it be they had talked about Romulus? God, that would have been a _horrible_ conversation; Quentin himself still had _nightmares_ , every now and then.

“That was the point. I opened his eyes; it was painful.”

And it had been for the both of them, hadn't it? Daken had a remote look on his face, he wasn't looking at him now.  _Stop this right now, Quentin, before he decides you're like everyone else._

“Well, I won't tell him if you don't want me to.”

Daken looked at him. “Why?” He asked, quietly, and it wasn't just  _'why aren't you going to tell him you saw me'_ , but also  _'why are you doing this_ ,  _why are you going to say you lost the girl?'_

“Because you're asking.” Quentin shrugged. “You don't want to talk to Logan, that's your damn right. Boundaries are important.”

“You really think that, don't you?” For a fraction of a second he seemed utterly young, younger than Quentin himself. “You really do.” He shook his head. “You always did.” He seemed about to say something else, but then he turned slightly his head, as if he had heard something. “It's been a pleasure to see you, Quentin,” he said, then, turning again towards him. It took Quentin a few seconds to realise he wore the same affectionate smile he had graced the girl with. He stared, stunned.

“Likewise,” he managed to say after a few seconds, more shaken by that smile than anything else that had been said.

“You should go now.”

_Before the surgeon arrives and I can't pretend anymore I don't know what's happening here._ “Yes. Of course.” Quentin took flight. “See you soon?” He hoped he didn't sound too eager.

“I'll see you when I'll see you, Quentin.” Daken said firmly. “Take care.”

“Yes, you too.”

Daken cocked his head in farewell, and Quentin was in the air, and soon Daken was just a faceless stranger on the road. Was he looking up still? He was entering the warehouse now. Quentin felt thoroughly confused at the exchage. He flew for a while, hoping the cold night air would clear his mind. It had been all so strange, the girl, his strange behavior... Quentin had always asked himself what had happened to him; never in his wildest dreams would he have thought he would have found him taking care of a little girl, let alone worrying about her so fiercely. Quentin had done the right thing in reassuring him, he knew that; the girl was fine, was taken care of, she wasn't alone. Now he just had to sell the story to the others.

His first reassurance, though, at been thoroughly instinctual, driven by the look on Daken's face. By the way he had frozen, expecting Quentin to take the girl away, preparing to fight tooth and nail.

_Rachel, do you copy?_

_Yes._

_I lost the girl_ , and that was it, there was a weird sense of finality in saying it. He couldn't backpedal now. 

He didn't want to.

_Oh, God._

_I know, I'm sorry._

She gave him their coordinates and he reached them, his only greeting a hushed “How could you lose her?” from Rachel as she closed the tailgate of the Blackbird.

Idie and Iara lifted their heads from where they were, sitting on the pavement, the kids all gathered around them.

“You lost her?” Idie said, and God, how could he lie to _Idie?_

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

“That poor girl. Are you sure, why didn't you search more in the area?” Her brows wrinkled, her eyes full of worry.

“I'm sure she's fine,” he choked out, “I'm sure she is.”

He managed to dodge Rachel's questions and reached Broo and Trevor in the cockpit. He didn't want to look Idie in the eye and coldly lie in front of everyone. Maybe he could tell her?

No, no, she would have told someone else, and somehow word would have surely gotten to Logan. All with good intentions, of course; Idie would have only wanted to help, but wouldn't this mean bringing mutants right into Daken's house, wouldn't it mean betraying his trust? Quentin had promised, he had no intention of betraying his word to him.

“How's the situation?”

“We're leaving the area soon.” Trevor was focused on the instruments.

“Are we going to Madripoor?”

“No, Rachel vetoed that.”

“But the kids need immediate attention!”

“I checked them already,” interjected Broo. “They're not fine, but we can't afford a fight with Mystique right now.”

“She would see reason.”

“Yeah, right,” snorted Trevor. He pressed some lever.

Quentin crossed his arms. “You checked them, Broo?”

“Yes, that's what I said.”

“No offense, but –”

“Broo's highly qualificated.”

“I know, that's not what I'm saying –”

“You're saying I probably scared them.” Broo turned to look at him, his wings brushing his seat. “The monsters were the ones that took them, not me.”

“You're not a monster,” said Quentin, on the defensive. He hadn't worded his question right _at all_ , but he had been trying to keep the other thoughts off his mind – “You know I don't think that.”

“Yes. I know.” Broo's eyes glistened red. “I do get what you're saying, Quentin, but I was the only one available.” That was all he had to say on the matter; he turned again in his seat, checking some instrument or another. Quentin decided to stay in the cockpit, the now uncomfortable silence preferable to going back and lying straight to Idie's face. What in the name of sanity was he doing?

He knew fully well what he was doing: he was protecting Daken, like he had been doing three years before; only _then_ Daken hadn't really been Daken. In reality, Quentin had spoken to the man  _once_ – twice, now – and didn't really know him... But that wasn't right, either; Quentin knew he knew him more that everyone else on the planet right now, probably even Logan. It was a knowledge built on confessions by someone  _else_ , but it was there and Daken, strange as it was,  _trusted_ him enough to believe Quentin was going to keep his word. With the trust issues he had been forced to develop, wasn't this trust the  _only_ sign Quentin needed to keep his mouth shut and keep his word like he had promised to?

Dammit, he only wanted to do what was right!

And that apparently entailed lying to his girlfriend.

He didn't know how he survived the return to the school with these thoughts spiralling in his head, but somehow he managed; and then the kids were brought inside, and were pampered and checked, and then interviewed by Hisako and Nori and Logan, too, and Quentin managed not to break down in front of him; and everyone helped, and it was a long, long night. It was dawning already when the kids were finally able to go to sleep, all lined up in a room monitored by Beast and Broo.

Quentin slept till lunchtime, along with a good portion of the adult population of the school, probably; and by the time he got out on the lawn it was afternoon. He hadn't seen Idie yet; most of the female staff had decided to stay with the kids. According to Hisako and Nori, the kids had been staying in that place for a few days; there hadn't been time yet for clients to show up, but it did seem it was to become, at least in the intentions of the pimp, as the older kids had been able to understand and then repeat to the X-Men, a brothel for clients with more than particular tastes. Disgusting. This fitted with what Quentin had heard the girl say, about the kids being there for days and Daken doing nothing; but at the same time it seemed he had been monitoring the situation closely, warning the X-Men just a day before the apparent opening. Why had he done nothing if he had had the means to monitor everything, the girl had asked, but it was obvious; he hadn't done it for the same reason he had reacted that way when he had seen the girl had made herself known to them; he hadn't done it because it would have entangled him with other mutants. The thing the girl had accused him of doing, the thing he was doing to have her out of harm's way, apparently. He couldn't certainly blame him for that. Not with the way their lives were always filled with dramas and constant squabble with a villain or the other and  _politics_ ; and now, and it was Quentin's fault, they were even under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar  _again_ .

Sighing heavily, Quentin collapsed on the grass, his gaze trailing over the students playing and the few others monitoring them, Iceman and Nightcrawler and X-23 and  Gambit . He let himself fall backwards, the strong sunlight hurting his eyes. Could he stare into the sun without damaging his eyes? He was the Phoenix, surely he could – he just wanted to stop thinking, stop worrying, stop noticing the students' whispers and stares. They thought he didn't notice, but they couldn't  _hide_ their thoughts. They were afraid. A vast majority of the student body was  _afraid_ of him, afraid of what the Phoenix could  _do_ . Now he knew what Evan felt daily: could he really blame him for shutting down and hiding, when he knew the power of staring? He shut his eyes, black supernovae exploding on his underlids. Burning tendrils whispered at his consciousness; he shut them out.

“You lied.”

Startled, Quentin snapped his eyes open, seeing Shogo happily plummeting toy mechanical instruments right beside Quentin and then sitting on the grass.

Shogo hadn't been the one to talk, obviously; tilting his head a little backwards, Quentin saw X-23 staring down at him, her face unreadable from this angle. Quentin sat up, turning his head to look at her.

“What?”

She had always such a remote expression; it was difficult to read her. “You lied,” she repeated.

Shit. Thrice-be-damned shit. Logan hadn't noticed and  _she_ had to? “What about?” 

X-23 sat beside him cross-legged, eyes on Shogo. “You didn't lose the girl.”

“Um, yes, I _did_.” Would annoyed contempt be enough? “It was shitty on my part, I know, but you wouldn't believe how quick she was.”

“She's quick, yes,” said Laura absentmindedly, and _What?_ Quentin thought, but before he could say anything she added, “But you didn't lose her.” She smiled at Shogo, who was looking at her with a proud grin after having, in less than a minute, constructed some sort of strange toy. 

“I lost her,” Quentin said in autopilot. _She's quick? She_ is _quick? Present tense?_

“Why are you doing it?” Laura looked at him. 

“What am I doing?” Quentin said weakly, because it wasn't possible.

“Why are you lying, Quentin.”

First name; he had always been Quire to her. He didn't know X-23; he didn't talk with X-23. He had never gone past polite greetings with X-23. She was always quiet – sometimes he saw her smile with Jubilee – and her circle of friends was little; despite them being the same age, they had never taken the same classes. She was a free spirit, much like Logan, being his clone and all; independent, and sometimes she took off on trips for weeks.

And here she was, talking to him, asking why he had lied.

“I'm not lying.”

“Quentin.” She bent a little closer, and whispered: “Logan's inside.”

He  _started_ , his head whipping towards her, his body moving of its own accord away from her. “No  _way_ ,” came out of his mouth.  _Are you fucking kidding me_ .

“Hey!” Shogo whined, preoccupied by Quentin's reaction. He had almost sat on the kid's work.

“It's nothing, sweetheart. Go back to your project.”

“What.” Quentin managed to articulate, staring at her. “Like, what.”

“Can you be less conspicuous, please?” She shook her head slightly. “Tell me why you're lying.”

“Tell me why you're _asking._ ” He had to be more careful. He couldn't have understood correctly; but if he _had_ – 

“I'm asking because I know you're lying.”

“But you don't know because you smelled it on me,” Quentin said, slowly. He recalled something: _The children are safe now, I made sure of it, I know they're with them_. How had Daken known that? “You know because –”

She cocked her head to the side. “Yes. Daken told me.”

Her statement fell on his stunned silence. _I heard you were confined, though._ It was public knowledge that the Phoenix Force had returned on Earth; it wasn't public knowledge that Quentin had undergone months of confinement to be checked upon.  _I'm glad to see you're fine._ He shut out the fluttering in his chest at recalling those words and focused on Laura Kinney, Laura Kinney telling him she had talked with Daken recently. Daken, who had vanished from the face of the earth years before. She was in contact with Daken and she lived with them and no one had ever  _ noticed _ .

Was she Akki's  _auntie_ ?

No, it made no sense; Akki's  _auntie_ was someone Daken had seemed wary of, someone who had a way with words, someone manipulative. Maybe a partner of his?

“Daken _told_ you,” he replied, still stunned.

“This morning.”

“This _morning?_ ”

“Yes, he left a few voicemails overnight, I called him back this morning.” She said matter-of-factly. “He was –” she looked to the side, searching for words. She furrowed her brows. “– disquieted.”

It certainly wasn't surprising. Still. “Did he ask you to check on me?” Quentin realised his voice was shaking slightly. Didn't he  _trust_ him?

“No.” She was looking at him with an intense gaze. “No, I decided to. He seemed sure you weren't going to say anything. I thought –”

“You thought he used his pheromones on me.” Quentin finished her thought; it didn't take a mind reader for that. It was an understandable doubt, he figured, even if it hadn't even crossed his mind while they had been talking... But then it hit him with force, the dynamic of the conversation replaying in his head. “He kept himself far from me, X. He _couldn't_ have used his pheromones, even if he had wanted to. I mean, I don't know his range, but I guess the closer he is the better it is, and he was _yards_ away.” Had he done it on purpose, to keep himself from even considering doing it? Was it possible? Was Quentin just projecting his wishful thinking?

X-23's gaze faltered. “Did he?” She looked down. “How untrusting of me.” She furrowed her brows again; she seemed upset at herself.

“But I mean, I guess I understand why were you worried? Um, look, X –”

“Laura,” she said absentmindedly.

“Laura, ok.” Quentin sat more comfortably on the grass. “I'm not sure I've gotten it correctly; are you in contact with Daken?”

“Yes.”

“Since when?”

She seemed to think about it; then she shrugged. “It's been two years and a half, give or take.”

Okay, he hadn't expected that; he stared at her, shocked. “You've been in contact with Daken for two  _years and a half?_ ” he whispered. Even if Logan was inside, someone else could still hear them. “Does Logan know that?” No, Logan didn't know, had no idea, it was clear; had he, he would have responded differently when asked about it.

She seemed uncomfortable, at least. “No, he doesn't.”

“You're keeping it from Logan?” Quentin would have never guessed silent X-23 would have had it in her to keep something so big from Logan. Then again, he didn't know her, he knew she kept many things inside her: in this she was much like Daken. Who knew what secrets she held?

Then  _again_ , though, she had with Logan a relationship that was as close to filial as it could get; if he was not mistaken, Logan had even adopted her. This thing must have been biting at her.

“Yes, I am.” She looked at him. “I'm keeping this from him.” She seemed to know what he was thinking; evidently she was, too. “I admit, at the beginning I thought it was some scheme of his.” Her gaze trailed to Shogo playing with his toys. “He showed up out of nowhere one day and wanted only to talk; I indulged him, and he kept showing up, and then he –” her voice trailed off, her gaze more guarded, almost as if she was catching herself. “He's my brother,” she said quietly, almost on the defensive.

Quentin nodded at her. She was using him to spit it all out, he realised, the fact she was keeping a secret with Logan gnawing at her, torn between her loyalty to him and this newfound affection for her brother.

“His worries are peculiar,” she continued, “But not unreasonable. I do get why he's so worried. That's why I'm indulging him in this.”

“But you feel guilty about Logan,” he guessed.

She gave him a tiny nod. “Logan has always been there for me. I feel like I'm betraying him, somehow.”

Quentin crossed his arms. “Well, _I_ don't think you are.”

She gave him a curious look. “No?”

He shrugged. “Look at it this way. You're not doing it out of spite, you're doing a favour to your brother. I think it's a nice thing. And Logan wouldn't want to know, I mean he _would_ , but he promised to leave Daken alone. And you know how impulsive Logan is. So in a way you're helping him not to succumb to the temptation.”

“Helping him.” Laura seemed perplexed.

“Well. Sort of?” He offered her a smile.

“Sort... of.” Laura shook slightly her head. “Yes, you might be right. Thank you.”

“Hey, any time. And you can talk with Daken about this, of course, if you still feel uncomfortable.”

She seemed to think about that as she checked Shogo, who was busy with his instruments. They were so alike, Quentin thought. So quiet. She had someone to talk to, though, didn't she? She had friends. Had Daken _only_ her? The thought made his stomach churn.

“I... don't want to –” said Laura suddenly, slowly, “I don't want to put him in a situation where he has to decide whether to keep talking to me or cut all ties with me. He values this... this _secrecy_ too much for our relationship to survive me expressing doubts over it.”

“You won't know till you try.”

“No, I know him.” She looked at him. “And the fact that he is _trusting_ me on this is more important than anything else.”

“Yeah, you're right. That's big for him.”

“That's big for him,” she repeated, and again there was curiosity in her eyes. “You talk as if you know him. He _trusted_ you with ma– my _niece_.”

“We've talked a bit,” Quentin shrugged. No, he had _no_ intention of telling her if Daken hadn't.

“More than I bit, I reckon.” Laura cocked an eyebrow in a motion that was so utterly Daken-esque that Quentin was sure she had never exhibited that in front of Logan, because if she _had,_ the man would have immediately understood the siblings were seeing one another. It was blatantly clear. “I suppose it all leads back to when he was here? Logan told me about the amnesia.”

“And Daken hasn't?”

“Yes, of course he has. Only some things, though. He found some things here.” She seemed affectionate, the tiniest smile on her face. It wasn't the more open smile she wore when she talked with Jubilee. “After all, Quentin Quire, you _are_ in the group of students he asks tidings of every now and then. I should have seen it.”

Quentin froze, his heart skipping a beat. “ _Tidings?_ ”

She tucked her hair behind her left ear. “It's not espionage,” she said, on the defensive. Was she defending Daken or herself? “He wouldn't gain anything from it. I told him clearly since the beginning I wouldn't be used as a means to spy on the X-Men, but that's not what he was after –”

“Hey, hey,” Quentin raised both hands, “I didn't even _think_ about that.”

“No? It would have been a reasonable assumption, for one who has only talked with him a _bit_.” Oh, she was provoking him! Had she learned this streak from her brother? “But no, it's inoffensive information, mostly how _are_ you.”

“He asks about our _health?_ ” Quentin asked, stunned.

“ _Yes_.” And this time she smiled openly, a joyous smile that reached her eyes and screamed sibling pride.

“Wow.” Quentin sat there stunned, staring at her. A group of students? And _he_ himself was in the group. Daken asked about his _health_ every now and then. His and some others'.

_I'm glad to see you're fine._

It didn't take much to know _who_ the others were; if he understood him a bit, it could only, possibly, be the ones he, as Hiro, had connected with the most when he had been here. Broo, maybe? Hisako?

This was so eerie. And flattering, really. It meant they had made an _impression_ on him, somehow.

He recalled his affectionate smile when they had parted and felt a pang of guilt. Quentin had only done what was right. Had always done what was right. The fact Daken was so grateful for having been shown _basic human decency_ was horrifying. But then again, thinking back about Romulus – Quentin still seethed at the thought of that bastard, that fucking _animal_. Had he been alive still, had he not been killed by Logan, Quentin would have burned Romulus alive for what he had done. He would have made him suffer, slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the Phoenix feeding on his pain – the hunger, the anger, the hunger –

He realised Laura was looking at him, that Shogo's toys were _levitating_ , and shook himself. _Control yourself_. In a screech, the hunger died. The toys fell on the grass again; he hoped the students hadn't noticed it – but the lack of scared screams was a sure sign they hadn't. He was in _control_ of this. Quentin looked at Laura and tried a reassuring smile. “Will you tell him not to worry, then? Your niece is safe with me, I won't say anything.”

Laura still appeared wary, but at least she hadn't run away screaming. That was an accomplishment; the last time he had lost control had been with Julian, and he was still keeping his distance. These moments were so rare, though, and he always regained control quickly, so that was nothing to worry about.

Laura shook her head after a moment. “I told you he wasn't worried.”

“Well, you said he was disquieted.”

“About other things,” she said quietly, her gaze again on little Shogo. Probably about what the girl had said; Quentin had hoped they had resolved it somehow. He hoped talking with Laura this morning had helped him. “Many other things.” She caught Shogo and brought him to her lap. “Time for your nap, little one.”

“Nu-uh-uh, finish the model!” Shogo wailed, flailing his little closed fists. Quentin laughed. He saw why Jubilee trusted Laura with her son: she was strangely good with little kids.

“Later, Shogo. Be quiet.” Laura went to her feet with the kid in her arms. “Thank you for everything, Quentin. You've been very helpful. Thank you for...” she stared down at him, wonder in her gaze, “For Daken, too. I don't know what you did, but – the time here really changed him.”

He had only done what was  _ right _ and, looking up at her, he told her just that. She nodded as if he had said something deep and mysterious. “To you it's not much, Quentin. To  _ us _ –” she shook her head, “Thank you,” she repeated quietly, and left him there on the lawn. He stared after her, twitching with uneasiness.

He knew she was right. He told himself he had only done what was right because he didn't want to make a fuss about this, didn't want to think he had done anything  _ special _ because that would be so arrogant. But when you see layers upon layers, walls upon walls, and then you see unspeakable things, get to know horrifying things – you just want to hold that person and not let go, ever. And he felt insanely guilty about that impulse. He had never intently thought about what he was doing. But looking  _ back _ at it – he could see.

Beast was right.

Quentin sighed, pressing his palms over his eyes. He had been so entitled, so sure of himself in his quest of making Hiro open up, and he had never thought about what that would have meant later, for himself; and then he had gotten scared, scared of doing it again, scared of fucking it all up again, projecting things; and now he  _ was _ fucking it all up, he was failing his duty as a friend becauses he was so scared, so damn scared.

But it was time he grew up. He owed it to Daken. Perhaps, if he snapped out of this, he could face him again without worrying constantly about what to say, about Daken realizing Quentin had a stupid, inappropriate, hideous fixation. If he hadn't noticed already, from their conversation.

He would survive this.

And he would help Evan in the process. It wasn't the clearest motivation but that didn't matter as long as he helped him, right?

His mind was set and he left the lawn. Evan  _ needed  _ to talk about what he was going through, he couldn't just hide forever and hope everything would be all right on its own.

_ And I'm doing this just as an experiment. I'm an asshole _ . He took the stairs to the first floor.

He needed to understand what went through his mind when he helped someone, needed to revise the processes of his brain and fix them.

_ Am I scared of what I could find? _

Because if it wasn't a set process, if it wasn't just projection, that would have meant something else.

He reached Evan's door. At it he hesitated,  _ I can still walk away. I'm an asshole, this is wrong, I should help Evan because I want to help him, not because I'm worried about  _ myself , and recalled Idie's worry about Evan, and he owed it to  _ Idie _ too, he needed to be honest.

He knocked.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Interlude_

“Ashibiki no  
Yamadori no o no  
Shidario no  
Naga-nagashi yo wo  
Hitori ka mo nemu.”

Hyakunin Isshu – _Kaki-no-moto no hitomaro_

 

 

Daken was going to kill Mystique.

On the one hand, she had finally brought him Eike after weeks of missing calls and avoiding coming to Japan due to some so-called _important_ business of hers, the _bitch –_ it had turned out to be a con she had been running at the expenses of the X-Men, and even if he had enjoyed the fallout, keeping Eike away from him for more than two weeks _wasn't_ what they had agreed on, so he was glad to finally have the child home.

On the other hand, she had brought him Eike in the middle of his monthly reviewing of his business over the country, and she had annoyed him for _hours_ , blabbering about politics and responsibilities – and he had had to force himself not to stab her, given that the last time she had given him her _pasionaria_ speech, Maiko had gone off and gotten herself _shot_. Mystique hadn't stopped talking even in the midst of a furiously short fuck – the last resort he had taken to shut her up – and then had had the nerve to leave saying he would have had to keep Eike for some months.

Just like that. He was glad to spend an uninterrupted long period of time with the child instead of the continuous on-and-off, on-and-off affair that had been the norm for the last few years, but this – right now – _today_ – wasn't. The. Time. She could have warned him, at least. Bitch.

It was late, and Eike had been put to sleep after two hours of trying just about everything – and wasn't it exciting that the pheromones didn't work on the child? Eike had fallen asleep only thanks to Maiko, who had come to his rescue and had sung some lullabies whilst he was collapsed on the sofa. When Maiko had returned to her room, Daken had shut himself in his study with Kazuro, had bent the guard over the desk and had stopped thinking for a few, blessed minutes.

And then he had got back to work, and now he was trying to focus whilst he could distinctly hear Eike's uneasy rest in the other room – must be the change of environment – and the child was – about to –

– wail.

Daken was going to kill Mystique.

He heard someone approach the kid's room – he was about to storm out of the study, but it was just Maiko. Blessed girl. She would sing some other lullaby, and Eike would fall asleep again, and he would be able to focus on this damn paperwork.

He heard a knock at his door.

_Someone kill me._

“Otousan?” Maiko knocked again. “You aren't having private time, are you?”

 _Someone_ kill _me_. Daken sighed. “Come in.” Maiko entered, shouldering the door open, a kicking, wailing Eike in her arms. “Wish I had the time.”

“Ew, _no_.” Maiko made a face. “Don't want to know.”

“ _You_ asked, darling.”

“It was _rhetorical_. I saw Kazuro in front of my window three minutes ago.”

Daken waved his hands. “What can I do for you? I'm a bit occupied at the moment.”

Maiko cocked an eyebrow, reached his desk and planted herself in front of it with a murderous expression. “Otousan, I have a _test_ tomorrow.”

“And?” He looked at her. She had tied her hair in a tight ponytail and was beyond pale.

“It's an _important_ test.”

“Is it?” Daken returned his attention to his laptop. These damn figures. He was almost seeing double.

“ _Yes_.”

“And what can I do for you?”

“Keep Eike _quiet._ ” She struggled with the child, who was fisting her large pajamas. “Seriously, otousan, it's important –”

“ _Maybe_ , if someone wouldn't go running on the rooftops at night,” Daken said slowly, typing in some new figures, “– that someone would manage to be ready for a test the night _before_ said test –” When he hit _enter_ , he hoped the numbers would add up.

Silence; he looked up and Maiko was glaring at him.

He cocked his head to the side. “You need to learn to calculate pros and cons, dear. You want to be a vigilante and have good grades at the same time? Manage.”

“I was managing just fine. I'm going to _ace_ that test, if you remove the disturbance.”

Eike wailed.

“No, no, no!” Maiko rocked the kid in her arms. Eike wasn't that little anymore, but she was rather overprotective. “You're not disturbing me, little one, I was just kidding with otousan!”

“Maiko.” Daken rubbed his eyes. “I have to finish this thing.”

“You're the _boss_ , otousan, nobody's going to _ask_ you if you don't have it ready by tomorrow.” She walked around the desk and stood beside him, an eyebrow cocked up. She had taken way too many mannerisms from him.

“I hate laziness.”

She huffed, “Chikushou, otousan, that's not laziness. Please?” She looked at him teary-eyed. “It's _really_ an important test.”

She _knew_ that look murdered him. She ought to receive an abysmally bad grade on this damn test just to learn her lesson; but she had showed him already she was cabable of learning from her mistakes, like when she had asked the surgeon removing the bone fragments from her hand to leave her a scar instead of covering it with new skin. So _maybe_ he ought to cut her some slack. And it wasn't her fault that Eike was home now. “Fine. Fine.” He held out his arms; she placed the kid on his lap and kissed him on the cheek.

“Arigatou –” she grinned, and quickly escaped from the room.

Eike looked up at him with sleepy eyes. “Papa?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Papa has to work now, ok?” Balancing the kid on his legs, Daken held it close with an arm and placed its head on his chest. “Try to sleep.” _I_ beg _you, sleep_. He typed with just a hand, rocking his legs lightly to procure a semblance of soothing motion. Of all the things he had ever envisioned himself doing, this was the oddest. Never would he have imagined something like this – Eike was as much a constant presence as Maiko was, and there were days when this thing, this change he himself had undergone, scared him. He wasn't fit for this, he had never been. He had been molded and had let himself be molded and had striven to be something else, not something so domestic, tied by obligations now impossible to overcome. He was glad for Maiko and Eike, he was glad of this thing he had built, he was glad of what he _had_ overcome – but this was exhausting.

Eike appeared to be dozing off; maybe, just _maybe_ , he would have this damn thing finished before the dawn –

Eike moved – _someone_ kill _me already_ – and flailed its arms, little closed fists scattering a substantial stack of paperwork.

“ _Shit!_ ” He was going. To kill. Mystique.

Eike cringed. “I'm sorry, papa, I –”

“No, no, sweetheart, it wasn't your fault,” Daken stretched his free arm to retrieve some papers. “It wasn't. See? I've taken them already.”

“Mama said not bother you –” Eike was sniffing. _Oh, no, please. I_ can't _handle a crying child._

“You're not bothering me, sweetheart. I'm just a bit tired, and I have to do this thing, you see, but it's not your fault.”

“But what – _bother_ – means?”

It didn't take a _genius_ to know to speak with simple words to a child. Daken had assumed that, if Eike was using a word, it was because Mystique had explained its meaning.

Mystique was new to this as much as he was; he knew she hadn't really _brought up_ her adoptive daughter, she had taken Rogue with her when the X-Man had been a teenager.

“It means to disturb someone.”

“But Maiko said I'm _disturbing!_ ” Daken was about to launch himself into the explanation that using _disturbing_ in that way could mean a different thing entirely, and then cursed himself and was about to reassure the child, when Eike burst out crying.

“No no no no _no_.” Daken felt panicked. “No, sweetheart, don't cry, please.” He rocked his legs, but Eike was too upset now. If only those damn pheromones would _work_ on the child! He realised he was even pumping them on instinct, and caught himself. “You're not disturbing anyone, sweetheart. I swear. It's all right, go back to sleep, please –” maybe he shouldn't have said that; Eike's crying intensified.

“I'm _disturbing_ you!” Eike wailed, and shifted on Daken's lap to bury its face on his chest.

 _And what should I do?_ He rocked Eike on his legs awkwardly, mumbling some nonsense to the child. He didn't focus on what he was saying as he tried to think quickly. Sing, he had to sing; a rhythmic melody, accompanied by a rhythmic movement, was enough to soothe little children. But he didn't know lullabies, damn him.

 _I know something rhythmic._ He shook his head. No, that was in the past. He remembered them only because he had relived those memories three years ago, and they were too painful to be revisited now. Those things were buried, deeply buried, and it wouldn't do him any good to dig them up. He didn't want to remember Akihira's strong, deep voice, didn't want to remember those brief happy moments. And they weren't tied only to Akihira; they were tightly linked to Quentin, now, to his countertenor young voice. _Quentin_. This had to _stop_. Seeing him again in that street, some week earlier, had shaken him. As always, Quentin had helped him, without asking anything in return; had just stormed into his life and brought the pieces together, had found him when he was most vulnerable, when Maiko had just been hurt, when he hadn't received an update about Eike for _weeks_ ; and he hadn't taken advantage of it. He had just _been_ there, comforting him with his mere presence –

Eike was still wailing and he was wasting time thinking about this. Annoyed at himself for having such absurd thoughts, he set on doing what he knew he had to do. He inhaled –

“ _Naniwa-zu ni – Sakuya kono hana – Fuyu-gomori. Ima wo haru-be to – sakuya kono hana. Ima wo haru-be to – sakuya kono hana –_ ” He looked down at Eike's wide glowing eyes. The child was listening raptly. _At least it_ _works._ Daken tried not to think about Akihira, not to think about Quentin, and settled quickly for another tanka. “ _Aki no ta no – kari ho no iho no – toma wo arami – waga koromode wa – tsuyu ni nure-tsutsu_ –” Akihira chanting on the tatami, tall, firm; his thin smile when he talked to him, when he explained poetry and literature; the thoughtful, almost sad look he had had the day of Aoi's funeral, when he had told him about the dragon's power, when he had told him he was his _son_. His eyes, cold and devastated, when he had told him to leave and never return again. His tortured eyes just a millisecond before the bullet found its target, before his head had exploded – “ _Oku yama ni – momiji fumi wake – naku shika no – koe kiku toki zo – aki wa kanashiki_ –”

He felt a little hand on his face. “You're crying, papa.”

Oh. It was true; but at least Eike had stopped wailing. Daken cleared his throat and caught Eike's little hand. “Yes, sweetheart. It's all right, don't worry.”

The child bit its lower lip. “When I cry, mama sings, and you sing too. They were strange words.”

“That was Japanese, sweetheart.” Daken still had a lump in his throat; he coughed, trying to get rid of it. _Damn_ him. He recalled how Logan had known how to play karuta; had his mother – had Itsu taught him? The thought was too painful – the idea his mother could have loved the poems, agonizing.

“I can sing if you want, papa.”

How was this tiny little thing so perceptive? Maybe the heightened senses were already showing up; he would have to have Eike checked.

“There's no need. See? I'm better again.” He managed a thin smile, but Eike didn't seem convinced. “It's because you were holding my hand, sweetheart. I'm better because of that.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

 _There could be a touch of truth to that_ , he thought, recalling another set of hands holding his as Eike grinned, sending an acute pang to his chest. He cleared his throat again, trying to regain some composure.

“Can we sleep, now, papa?”

Now? But he still had this damn figures to finish –

“I'm really tired, papa.” Eike yawned. Maybe if he put the child to bed now, Eike would sleep through the night, and he could return to finish his work.

“Of course.” Daken pushed the chair away from the desk and made as if to catch the child, but Eike squirmed and raised its little arms.

“Piggyback!”

_What._

“What did you say, sweetheart?”

“Piggyback, papa. Mama _always_ does it!” Eike nodded.

For real? Daken would have _paid_ to see that.

Too bad Eike was asking him to do the same.

The universe was really having a good laugh at him right now.

“I'm not really sure I can do it, sweetheart. How –”

“Oh, it's easy!” Eike interrupted him, and stood up on Daken's legs, grabbed his shirt and _climbed_ him, pushing up on his arms and chest – and then Eike settled, little legs hanging and feet touching Daken's chest, and huffed a satisfied sigh from up there. It all happened in a few seconds; Daken sat stunned, hands coming up instinctively to still Eike's little legs and anchor the child securely.

“Who taught you that?”

“Me! Mama said I'm reaaaaally _agile_ ,” Eike grabbed chunks of Daken's hair to steady itself. “Oh! Your hair is softer than mama's!”

 _Ah!_ Served her right. Holding back his snigger, Daken stood up, balancing the child on his shoulders, and walked towards the door. The corridors would, he assumed, be empty: the guards were outside the house; two of them were inside, but they were stationed near the entrance, so they wouldn't have spotted him. Maiko was studying in her room, so he would be safe from her watch too. If the world was a kind place, nobody would see him _giving a piggyback ride_.

But the world, as he had learnt at his expense under Romulus' tutelage, wasn't a kind place. This was confirmed when he opened the door, turned to the right and saw Maiko coming back from the kitchen with a glass of water in her hands. _Someone kill me. Please. Daken Akihiro, assassin and babysitter extraordinaire._

Maiko stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide, corners of her lips tugging upwards – and then she grinned, emitting an “Awww!”

 _I will never live this down. Never_.

“Haven't you an _important_ test tomorrow?” The impact of his stern words was utterly _destroyed_ by Eike tugging at his hair and whining.

“It's good to keep oneself hydrated, otousan!” Maiko saluted him with her glass. “Hey, were you reciting tanka earlier?”

“Yes.”

“From the _Hyakunin Isshu_.”

“Yes.”

“I love that anthology! I've studied it, remember? I should have it still, buried somewhere. You hadn't told me you knew it!”

“It's not something I like to dwell on.” Maybe he hadn't managed to keep the sudden pang out of his voice, because Maiko sobered.

“Oh. Sorry, otousan.” She didn't know anything about his life prior to when he had taken her in, but had probably begun surmising things on her own. She was so smart. And she knew Logan was his biological father; it had been imperative for both her and Eike to learn who to go to in case of emergency. She had Laura's number, of course – the two of them were so close – but one couldn't ever be too careful.

“It's all right. Go on, go.”

She obeyed, passing beside him and flashing a smile up at Eike. Daken sighed as he reached Eike's room, and as he released a little leg to open the door Eike tugged at his hair again.

“I want to sleep with you, papa!”

“The bed's too small for me, Eike.” _Please, enough. This I can't do._

“In your room!”

The thought was too uneasy, too horrid. He couldn't help but recall other instances, other nights – evenings, mornings – never on a bed, of course, but this –

“Otousan!” Maiko's bright voice called, and, relieved at hearing her, he turned.

A flash went off.

Oh no she _hadn't_.

She _had_ ; she had still her cell phone in her hand, a grin on her face. “Kawaii desu ne!”

 _No. Someone have mercy on me right now. Not_ kawaii. _No_.

She was just a sixteen-year-old, finally living a normal life after years of horrors he _knew_ ; he could suffer her using those pathetic words. Couldn't he? _Couldn't_ he?

Only on one condition.

“Delete that photo.”

“No way!” She slid her phone in the pajamas' large pocket. “You're too cute for that not to be immortalised.”

Never could he have imagined that he would someday be defined _cute_.

No, worse. _Kawaii_ , like what those ridiculous pink-wearing girls screamed in the malls.

“I'm not _cute_.”

“Hai, hai, otousan. Sorry, I have to study. Goodnight!”

He stared at her closing door, feeling a migraine pulsing at his bones. He had to see the doctor again; they were coming more and more frequently, especially when he stayed up to work.

Thrice-be-damned Roston. Thrice-be-damned _himself_. Idiot. _Fool_. Served him _right_.

“Papa?” Eike tugged at his hair. “I'm tired.”

“Yes, sweetheart. I know.” He made as if to open Eike's door again.

“I want to sleep with _you!_ Mama always does it when I ask!” Eike's voice had pitched up into a whine and there was the looming threat of another wailing fit not far behind.

He could manage this, he could survive this. Couldn't he? Romulus was dead, he would never see him again, save for in his nightmares. His child was _safe_. That was all that mattered, not how uneasy he felt at the idea of sleeping in his bed with his child. What the hell was wrong with him?

“All right, sweetheart. You're sleeping with me tonight. But let's not make a habit of this, ok?”

Exhausted, head pulsing – he, too, could use some rest, and Maiko was right, nobody would have asked him for anything if it wasn't ready in the morning – Daken reached his room. He approached the bed; he stood beside it awkwardly, trying to decide how to get the child down – and Eike surprised him again, climbing down and jumping on the covers, blue legs sprawled over the purple. The contrast was nightmarish, the colors sick and violent, reminding him of other things. But Eike was safe. Eike was _safe_.

“Aren't you a little monkey, sweetheart.” Daken forced a smile on his lips. _Don't think about that, don't think about Romulus_.

“A monkey?” Eike looked up at him, big yellow eyes glowing. “Yes! I'm a monkey. Monkeys are _agile_ ,” Eike nodded, serious – the word Mystique had used had really stuck in – and squirmed to get under the covers.

Inhaling deeply, Daken removed only his shoes, leaving them on the floor, and lay over the covers.

“Aren't you cold, papa?”

“No, sweetheart, I'm ok.” He lay rigid, paralysed, not daring to turn. “I'm ok.”

A rustling sound, and a warmth beside him. Eike had shuffled closer, and Daken turned slightly to see his child's sleepy face mere inches from his as a little hand came out of the covers to rest on the pillow beside Daken's head.

Eike blinked. “I love you, papa.”

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't _breathe_ , he just _couldn't_ – he didn't _deserve_ this, he didn't –

 _Say it back, you idiot._ Say _it_. _Don't leave that hanging. Inhale, answer,_ answer –

“Love you too, sweetheart.” Miraculously, his voice didn't quiver. He rolled to his side, Eike's minuscule fingers brushing his nose.

Eike was slowly closing its eyelids, finally exhausted, and all was fine, all would always be fine, he would make it so, and Eike was safe, Eike would always be safe –

Daken fell asleep to these thoughts.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ **2023** “How kind of you to worry about the child, almost as if you didn't want the child to come upon any harm. Does it escape you where are you? My purpose, Captain, is the child's well-being; I'm the father.”
> 
>  _The epigraph:_  
>  Ashibiki no  
>  Yamadori no o no  
>  Shidario no  
>  Naga-nagashi yo wo  
>  Hitori ka mo nemu  
>  _Long is the mountain pheasant's tail_  
>  _that curved down in its flight;_  
>  _But longer still, it seems to me,_  
>  _left in my lonely plight,_  
>  _Is this unending night._  
>  translated by William N. Porter [1909]
> 
> **Fanarts**
> 
> by [decaykid](http://www.decaykid.tumblr.com)
> 
> __________________
> 
> __________________
> 
> [original post on Tumblr](http://decaykid.tumblr.com/post/96278001536/some-sketches-inspired-by-gealachinamistyworlds)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING! Please** be aware that this chapter deals with **child sexual abuse**. I direct your attention to the work's tags, which for the most part pertain to this chapter. **Thanks for your attention.**

2.

“And when we come for you  
We'll be dressed up all in blue,  
With the ocean in our arms  
Kiss your eyes and kiss your palms.  
And when it's time to pray  
We'll be dressed up all in grey,  
With metal on our tongues  
And silver in our lungs.”

Florence + the Machine – _Spectrum_

 

 

**2023**

 

There were a few fundamental truths in life – foundations that would never be shaken. This, Quentin knew.

They would always be hated and feared; he was an asshole; Mystique would always betray them; he was an asshole; they needed political mutant representation; he was an asshole.

So when Mystique showed up alone in front of their gates, they were, quite understandably, apprehensive. They herded the students inside and approached her, and she waited, hands up, not moving an inch. He, Rachel, Psylocke and the Cuckoos triangulated the area, but there was no one with her – not within a reasonable radius, anyway.

When they reached Mystique, Rogue just looked at her and asked her what the hell she wanted.

Mystique took a breath and utterly failed to surprise them.

“I need help.”

“No shit,” someone said. It always began this way, of course. And Quentin got it, really, he did, he got why she did what she did – but they had been burned far too many times.

“What is it this time?” Rogue said, and she wasn't being dry and professional. “Some menace? A mutant you can't handle?”

“Why don't you use your men for it?”

“Yes, we're not here only to clean your _mutant nation_ mess.”

“I don't trust anyone in Madripoor right now,” Mystique said quietly. Something in the way she spoke touched a cord in a few of the present X-Men – certainly in Quentin, because this woman in front of him was _scared_.

When they all quietened down, Mystique's gaze fell on Logan, who had been edging on the background leaning on his cane.

“My son's been kidnapped,” said Mystique. She kept her gaze on Logan even as there were a few shocked gasps and surprised mumblings from the assembled crowd. “You may remember him, Logan; you met his adult self years ago. Raze.”

Of course, many of them remembered him. It had happened so many years ago, though, the memories so distant, that Quentin had to rummage through his own memories for a while in order to recall his features.

“Yes, Raven, I remember.” Logan had the expression of one who was way too old for this shit. “You'd failed to tell me he was born at all, though.”

“We can play this, if you want, but not while he's in danger.” She had still her hands up and appeared to be itching to move, feet tapping ever so slightly on the ground, fingers twitching, but she kept her place. “They kidnapped him –” she repeated.

“Who's _they?_ ” Logan was massaging a temple.

“So are we listening to her?” asked Tempus.

“Yes, we're listening.” Logan put his hand on the cane again. “Who's _they_ , Raven?”

“I don't _know_ , they took me by surprise,” she snapped. “I'm having someone on it, they're close to a name –”

“You said you didn't trust anyone in Madripoor.”

“He's not in Madripoor, he's somewhere else –”

“Creed?”

“God, _no_.” Mystique grimaced. If anything had surprised everyone present, it had been her apparent fallout with Sabretooth some years earlier.

“Who?”

“He's –” Mystique bit her lower lip. “He's invested and trustworthy, Logan. I'm a hundred percent sure of this.”

“Why's he not here, then?”

“He sure as hell would _want_ to be here. Look –” she caught herself. “A message. Can I take my phone? Could be him.”

She could have done no damage on her own, not from outside the gates, so they let her. She stared intently at her cell phone for a while, brows furrowing more and more. Finally, she looked at them again. “A government facility in New Mexico.”

Oh, how novel. She just wanted to throw them against the US government again, as if the last time hadn't taught them anything.

“Mum,” Rogue shook her head, and Mystique snarled.

“My child's in _danger!_ I don't care if you think I'm playing, I'll have Madripoor shield the responsibility, I'll sign you everything you want me to sign, just give me someone. I can't storm in there on my own, I need mutants.” She certainly didn't seem to be in control of herself, but this could be one of her _millions_ of ploys. “He's _ten_ , Logan, for crying out loud, he's your _blood_. They've had him for days, I didn't know what to do, we didn't _know_ – they could be _experimenting_ on him and you _know_ that, _help_ me. _Please_.”

Logan lowered his head and Quentin knew he was thinking about another child, one he had never successfully helped. One who had never forgiven him; despite what Daken had told Quentin, years before, he had never shown up again.

“I'll come with you, Raven,” Logan said in the end. “We're takin' a Blackbird. Anyone who wants to come with us?”

He was old and could not fight, not anymore, but denying Mystique help was simply not an option. Rogue, Rachel, Trevor, Iara and Iceman agreed to go with them.

This would be political suicide, but if a child's life was really in danger they couldn't just turn their heads away. It spoke volumes of the government's  two-facedness that they were doing something like this, something this horrible, under their nose. This Raze – it probably wasn't his real name – was a Madripoor citizen and they were surely counting on that to have their backs covered in case of an investigation from the Mutant Rights Committee.

Well, they hadn't given much thought to that, because now they had the X-Men on their tails.

They had been gone for hours and it was night already when the sentinel of liberty showed up.

It was an anonymous helicopter but S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hands were behind it, it was clear. The kids were inside already, given the hour, so the X-Men waited on the lawn as Storm took flight, effectively preventing the helicopter from landing. They were trespassing, and they  _knew_ that. Some exchange took place in the air; as Storm lowered herself slowly, allowing it to land, Quentin turned towards Idie and told her to take Julian and Anole, go back inside and coordinate the resistance for an attack. At least, he thought as she did as told, she was always professional when dealing with  _him_ in this kind of instances.

_Psylocke, can you reach someone?_ He thought at the ninja as they both walked towards the landing helicopter.

_I've been trying since they showed up. Nothing_ .

This didn't bode well; Quentin grimaced as Steve Rogers and some S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stepped out of the helicopter.

“You're trespassing, Captain,” was Storm's only greeting.

“Please,” Rogers said, holding up his hands. “I'm here unofficially. We can resolve this peacefully.”

“Wow, thank you,” interjected Quentin, as he and Psylocke reached them.

The old man straightened in his military uniform. If he was dressed like this, it  _wasn't_ unofficial. 

But if it had been official, there would have been  _Avengers_ on their lawn. The government probably wanted to keep this quiet.

“We can resolve this peacefully,” Rogers repeated. “I need you to put a leash on your X-Men.”

“On what account?” Storm crossed her arms.

“They attacked a facility. I don't know what game are you playing at –”

“What game are _you_ playing at, captain?” Quentin snarled. He was disappointed at the man he had learnt to see as more than a government plaything. He just couldn't _believe_ Rogers could condone something like this. And if he didn't know, there was something seriously wrong in the US chain of command. “Do you know what do they do at that facility?”

But a doubt hit him. What if Mystique had really been playing them?  _Again?_ What if this had been one of her countless ploys, a move to undermine them even more in the eyes of the general public?

“It was a medical research facility,” Rogers said. “I want to know why you attacked somewhere designed to help people get _better_.”

_Psylocke –_

_Yes, I know, I'm trying. The Blackbird is in ultrasound mode, I can't reach them._

_If they're in ultrasound it's an emergency!_ He tried as well, but only a loud buzz echoed in his ears. He tried to reach Rachel, tried to force his way through the connection they had through the Phoenix, but he couldn't find her. Something was wrong –

“– a General, who was there on a visit,” Rogers was saying, “Release him, try to concoct a reasonable excuse, and I promise you on the government's behalf there won't be repercussions.”

_Psylocke?_

_Last time I heard from Rachel they were going inside. The facility had a telepathy-blocking shield._

_It_ wasn't  _a medical research facility_ , he seethed.

_Obviously. I don't think Rogers knows._

“Why don't we wait for the others to come back?” Storm said. “It shouldn't take long.”

“I want your reassurance that something like this won't happen again. What possessed you? We could shut this school down.”

“ _Try_ , captain.” Quentin came closer, and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents raised their guns. “Yes, try and shoot the Phoenix. Good idea.”

“General?” One of them said.

“Lower your weapons, he won't do anything.”

“Oh, _try_ me.”

“Shutting the school down is _not_ something I'd condone, but I'm not on my own. You kidnapped a US General!”

“And what did he do? What was he doing there? Don't you want to hear that too before deciding? Don't you trust Logan's judgment, at least?”

“This has gone too far for that and you know that.”

“Don't you think it's strange they sent _you, quietly,_ instead of a commando? What do they want to hide, what haven't they told you?”

Rogers appeared to at least be thinking about that, even if Quentin couldn't know – not since those damn telepathy-blocking chips had been implanted in half the US population.

_Blackbird incoming_ , he heard Psylocke's voice in his head.  _There's something, they're agitated –_

“Look, they're coming,” Storm pointed at the sky, at Rogers' behalf.

It came plummeting down, shattering the sound barrier – Quentin shielded the ears of everyone within a  seven mile radius – and landed directly on the lawn.  _What_ –

They came out, spreading on the lawn, Iara holding with ferocity what, yes,  _looked_ like a General, Logan's face ashen as he leaned heavily on his cane, a screaming, crying, blue child held by Rogue, why wasn't he held by his mother, where was Mystique, where was –

Where was  _Rachel?_

Things got hysterical – Logan pointing his cane at Rogers, a cacophony of voices and thoughts hitting Quentin, people screaming, Iceman sobbing convulsively, Logan shouting  _get out of here right now_ , Rogers trying to talk, the child in Rogue's arms a sobbing mess, flashes, lights, explosions on his underlids –

“Stop thinking,” Quentin murmured, because it was all in his head, it wasn't possible for them to be all screaming so loud. “ _Stop thinking!_ ” Quentin screamed, hands coming up. Some of those assembled flinched and backed away from him, and he realized he was hovering above the ground, flames in his fingertips. “Where is my child?” he heard slipping from his lips. “My child's here, where is she?”

“Jesus Christ,” someone uttered, and, at that moment, Quentin wasn't entirely sure he had control over his own body. And then he saw her, brought out of the Blackbird by Trevor, and he heard a wail coming out of his mouth. _My child_ , the Phoenix screamed and teared at his consciousness with fiery claws, _my child –_

He was at Rachel's side in an instant, snatching her out of Trevor's arms and grabbing her in a tight embrace. He had never been that close to her, but the Phoenix, the Phoenix was screaming in his mind and he realized he was crying, sobbing,  _humans made me weak_ , and  _my child, my child –_

He felt a little hand grabbing, squeezing his own. Quentin returned to himself slowly, the lawn coming back into focus, and he saw the blue child looking at him with big yellow eyes, holding his hand.

“It's all right,” the kid said quietly, “It's all right if I hold your hand. And if you hold mine, too. My mama's dead, too, but if you hold my hand – if you hold –” he emitted an abject sound, a sob so violent it shook Quentin too, and began crying again, “It's supposed to work! It always works!” Quentin, his mind clearer now, the Phoenix a quieter buzz, let go of Rachel's body, tried to hold the kid, but he was shaking his head, letting go of Quentin's hand and hugging himself tightly.

Quentin looked around, at the circle of X-Men, Rogers and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents around them, at Logan trying to approach the two of them.

“ _Don't touch me!_ ” The child screamed, stepping away from Logan, “Do not _touch_ me, I hate you, I _hate_ you, it's your fault, it's your _fault_ –” he appeared to faint, dropping down suddenly, and Quentin caught him in his arms, his gaze immediately drawn to Psylocke. 

She held his gaze. “It's better this way,” she said quietly. “He was too distressed. I've warned Broo, he's coming to get him.” She hesitated, and then, “Are you all right, Quentin? Do we need to restrain you?”

Quentin got a better look at those around him, who appeared to be in a wary stupor. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents seemed ready to bolt away, pale, hands shacking around their guns. His teammates were more controlled, but he saw clearly Psylocke tense and prepare to attack him, he saw the Cuckoos ready themselves to back her up.

“I'm fine,” he said. “I'm fine, it's just – the Phoenix was distressed at seeing –” he couldn't even _say_ it. He looked down at Rachel's body in front of him. “What _happened?_ ”

Apparently, entering the facility had been relatively easy, but once inside they had been faced with heightened security, designed specifically for mutants. Rogers, grey-faced, listened as they reported the kind of weapons which had been used, things that directly challenged the directives established at the Utopia Convention.

Mystique had died when they had reached the room where Raze was held. She had opened fire on the General they had gone on to capture – and, after that, everything had happened very fast. Logan still wasn't sure on what exactly had transpired: he remembered fighting with her in an attempt to hold her off, and, in doing that, he had apparently given a soldier the opportunity to shoot. It was obvious that, in the kid's eyes at least, his mother had died because of Logan.

They had snatched the child away, taking the General with them to provide leverage that would allow them to leave the facility; but as they were leaving they had been attacked once more, and Rachel, trying to buy them time, had been hit by something – something unfamiliar, unknown to them. They had at least managed to recover her body.

“And Mystique?” Psylocke asked.

Logan shook his head.

“Couldn't she be alive?” Storm interjected, “She's faked her own death before.”

“I checked. There was no time, but I checked. I wouldn't have left her in there if I had thought she was alive. She's dead.” Logan lowered his head. “And now I'll have another son who will blame me for his mother's death,” he said quietly. 

“It wasn't your fault, Logan,” Rogue said, voice strangled, probably choking on her tears but trying to keep it together.

“And Daken doesn't fault you for that, Logan, not anymore,” Quentin added. “You know that.”

“I don't fucking know _anything_. He's gone – I have to think about this kid, now.” Broo emerged from the school just in that moment, and Logan motioned for him to come over. As Broo took the kid inside, Rogers spoke.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” he said quietly. “Truly, I am. But now I need to take the General –”

“ _No_ ,” snarled Logan.

“Logan –”

“ _Steve_.” Logan straightened himself on his cane. They looked at each other, two old men, residual of older times, worse times, expired government projects. “We have just lost a friend. My child has just seen his mother die in front of his eyes. Two deaths. Your government was responsible for that.”

“Whilst you are are on US soil, Logan, it's your government too.”

“Maybe we should declare our independence, mh? What do you think? A second Madripoor?” Logan snapped his spine straighter still. He was shorter than Rogers, but he could still command respect. “How should I know this wasn't just an elaborate ploy to assassinate Madripoor's governor? Kidnapping a child, Steve?” Logan pointed at the General with his cane – the General who still hadn't spoken a word. “God knows what they did to the kid. He was wailing, Rogers. It was a _medical_ facility, yes. The room he was held in was full with medical equipment. What does your government do to _mutant children_ , Rogers?”

“Logan –”

“No, don't answer, because if you knew something about this –”

“I didn't know anything. Let me help, please. I'll bring the General in, clean this mess, ask people who owe me –”

“ _Owe_ you?” Logan growled. “I don't think so. The General stays _here. We_ will interrogate him –”

“I can't let you do that –”

“Why don't you both interrogate him?” said Quentin, “Here? Let's bring him inside and hear what he has to say. The captain can watch and even chime in, if he wants to. So it would be under his watch and he can say to his _people_ that he made the best of the circumstances.”

It was reasonable, and they could see that, and they agreed.

_Good idea, Quentin_ , he heard Psylocke's quiet voice in his head as they went inside, Rachel's body held by Iceman. Quentin could hardly bring himself to look at her, barely keeping the Phoenix at bay. How was it possible that it had taken so little to kill her? What the hell had they used? Logan said it had been a ray of some kind.

They settled for the conference room, where they were joined by the rest of the faculty, and Iara forcefully threw the General into a chair, standing behind him with her hands pinned on his shoulders, forcing him to stay put.

He wasn't going to talk, as they discovered after twenty minutes of interrogation, Rogers getting more and more nervous as the questions led the way to threats. The General was even refusing to speak to Rogers, and Logan was a fury, barely keeping it together. God only  _knew_ what had happened to the child – they would not know the extent of his ordeal until Broo had finished his check up.

A hour had passed when Iara loomed over the General's left shoulder and looked at them. “We're wasting our time. We have  _telepaths_ ; I say I remove the chip from this bastard and then they force their way through –”

“We can't do that,” Storm said sternly, even as she appeared to be itching just for that. A facility equipped against mutants, equipped to _kill_ and not just injure and stop? It was the Sentinels all over again, and they had had to lose a teammate, a friend, to discover it. Rogers remained strangely silent. It was unforgivable to cross some lines; kidnapping a _child_ was one such example.

Another forty minutes passed and the General's mouth remained tightly shut. Rogue, who had hitherto lingered in the background, quietly talking with Nightcrawler, went to her feet.

“Do you have kids, General?” She asked, raising her voice, and they all turned towards her. The General looked at her, but didn't speak. “I'm not asking to appeal to your _humanity_ , because you _haven't_ got that,” she said. She had puffy, red eyes. Despite all that had happened between her and Mystique over the years, there was no getting away the fact that the woman had been the one to raise her. That would never go away, that would always be a presence in her mind. It was natural for her to mourn. Nightcrawler, sitting beside her, appeared to be more composed. “I ask because a message just got here.” She raised an arm, a cell phone clasped in her hand; squinting his eyes at it, Quentin recognised it as Mystique's. “It comes from a contact Mystique was messaging continuously while we were coming to you. They were communicating in a sort of code. This one is in English, though.” She looked at the cell phone and there was a weird viciousness in the way her lips curved. “ _I have your daughter, General_ ,” Rogue read out loud. “So. Do you have kids?”

The General looked at Rogers; Rogers looked at Rogue.

“Give me that cell phone.”

“Ah-ah, no way.” Rogue kept her vicious smile, keeping herself out of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents's range. The child, after all, was her brother. 

“We need to retrace them –”

“Why? Does a kidnapped child make your heart swell, captain? Must be terrible. Imagine what horrible things could be happening to this poor girl.”

“Rogue,” said Nightcrawler, quietly.

“ _No_ , Kurt. This bastard kidnapped a _child_. Our brother.”

“That's not a reason to rejoice about a poor girl's torture. We don't know what's happening to her –”

“We need to retrace them,” Rogers repeated. “Rogue, you're better than this. Please let us work, I'll bring the cell phone to S.H.I.E.L.D., we'll save the girl and –”

“How _kind_ of you to worry about a kidnapped _American, human_ child.”

Rogers grimaced; nobody said a word. The General was beyond pale.

And then he spoke.

“My girl has nothing to do with this. Do something, Rogers!”

“You _shut_ up!” Rogers snapped, turning towards him. “I'm doing this for your kid, not for you. Start _talking_ with the X-Men, I'll do what I can for her.”

_Oh, the sentinel of liberty_ is  _pissed_ . Quentin crossed his arms, feeling a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

Rogers was looking at Rogue again, hands up, eyes pleading. “Rogue, please. We can retrace who's behind this –”

“We can do that from here,” Cypher spoke up. “ _I_ can do that. There's no need for you to take away our lead.”

“There's no time to argue –”

“Exactly –”

“The child could be being harmed as we speak –”

“Oh dear, that _does_ ring a bell,” Rogue snarled – 

The cell phone rang.

“Oh, ok,” Rogue said, looking down at it. “I guess this settles it.”

“Let me speak with them,” pleaded the General, “Please, my baby girl –”

Rogue looked at him, “You know, you don't have  _the right_ to speak like that.”

“Rogue.” Logan's voice. It was so tired and so old and so quiet. “Let him speak to them.”

Shrugging, she passed the cell phone to Cypher. He and Warlock went to stand beside the General.

“Let them talk, let them state what they want,” Rogers said, “We'll save her. I promise.”

He nodded; Cypher answered the call,  putting it on speaker . 

The voice that came through was, of course, artificially distorted, echoing in the conference room as they settled to listen.

“General Williams,” it said, “Good morning.” Oh. The voice was right. It was morning already. This had been a horrifying night.

“Prove to me you have her,” the General said firmly. Even if he despised the man, Quentin had to admire his nerves.

“Of course.” There was a rustling sound; the distorter appeared to be deactived as a young female voice echoed in the room. “Dad? Is it true? Is what he says true? What did you do?”

“Jessica? Jessica, I need you to tell me something. Where does your mother keep her pills?” What – oh. Of course; he was trying to determine whether the girl was really her and not a shapeshifter.

“In... uh... in the basement, in a little red box, behind granpa's old chair.” She seemed relatively unfazed by the question. “ _Dad_ ,” she whined then, “what have you _done?_ He's going to kill me, he's going to –”

“Where are you?”

“I don't know, I –” A rustling sound again, “So, as you see, I have her,” the other voice rattled through the room once more.

“You bastard!” The General struggled against Iara's hold.

“Oh, I am. But I believe you win the prize. I'm curious... you must have a vast assortment of interesting toys to be able to incapacitate a team of X-Men.”

_He thinks you are still in the facility_ , Quentin put the rest of them in telepathic conversation.  _He thinks you've been captured._

_He lost all contact with Mystique_ , Rogue thought back,  _This must be an extreme measure –_

_Yes. Let him talk_ , Logan thought, exchanging a glance with Rogers. The General appeared to be thinking the same; he didn't answer. Cypher was holding tightly the phone, a furrow in his brows.

“I do have a vast assortment of interesting toys here, too. I suppose it's the same kind of thing one might find at your facility. A medical research facility, is it? Scalpels. Forceps. Retractors. Trocars. Maybe even saws – who knows, that would be so Third World. In case you're wondering: yes. I do have saws here. All the things you might want to use on someone with a healing factor.” A pause for dramatic effect. “Your girl here doesn't have a healing factor.”

_Oh, God._ Quentin felt the blood drain from his face, and he wasn't the only one to pale.

“I don't know what you did to the child you kidnapped, so I'm going to assume the worst. And I'm going to cut her.”

“Wait!” The General almost shrieked. “You can't do that!”

“Oh, you think you're untouchable, do you? We aren't in the seventies anymore, General. You can't kidnap people and expect no retaliation. I wonder what people would say if this went public. I wonder what people would think if they knew their government kidnapped children. I wonder what other governments would think if they knew America was partial to abducting people from other countries. I wonder what the mutant population would think if they knew America kidnapped mutants. Same old, same old, right, General? Oh, and I _see_ you're trying to retrace the call. Keep trying, that's very cute.” They looked at Cypher, who was grimacing and shaking his head. “Fortunately for you, I have no interest in going public about this – but maybe you _do_ need an incentive. Do you want to hear your daughter's screams?”

_Jesus Christ. Oh, Jesus Christ –_

“It's a _horrible_ thing, hearing your child cry,” the voice was saying, “Maybe you should experience it.”

Cypher was shaking his head, defeated.

“Wait,” the General was saying, “Oh, God, wait –”

Rogers took the situations into his hands. “General Rogers here. Who –”

The voice interrupted him. “General Rogers?  _O_ _ Captain! My Captain! _ Are you  _condoning_ this, Captain? I'm surprised.”

“I'm not condoning anything. Identify yourself, release the girl, and we'll solve this quietly.”

“In exchange for something, I hope.”

The General was nodding convulsively. Rogers grimaced. It went against everything he believed in.

“I'm not dealing with terrorists.”

“Do you want World War Three to begin on your watch, Captain?” His tone implied that it wasn't an idle threat. “Do you want a horrible nuclear holocaust on your conscience? I do assure you that mutants would survive it. Would your kind?” There was something strange about this. It was too rushed, too over the top. This was _personal_. This person was extremely loyal to Mystique, and wouldn't hesitate to put what he was talking about into action. “I could be bluffing, of course, but do you want to gamble on that?”

Rogers appeared to be thinking about that. Quentin wouldn't have hesitated a moment, and Rogers, sighing, appeared to reach the same conclusion.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to release the child, effective immediately, in the hands of someone I'll have on site as soon as you, honorable Captain, give your word that that someone won't be harmed or ambushed.”

Rogers looked around at the assembled X-Men. Was that really the only thing this bastard wanted? “What about the X-Men?”  He cast the bait.  “What about Mystique?”

“I'm sure their people are already coming for them, Captain, and you'll have many problems when they do. Now, the child? Or do you want this perfect little blonde Barbie to scream? I can make her do that.”

“As you say, he's a child. State your purpose with him.”

The man laughed, and through the distorter it sounded positively nightmarish. “How kind of you to worry about the child, almost as if you didn't want the child to come upon any harm. Does it escape you where are you? My purpose, Captain, is the child's well-being; I'm the father.”

The General started, his head whipping to look at Logan, and they all looked at one another.

Logan straightened himself. “Yeah, nice try, bub.  _I_ am the father.”

There was a long silence, then a rustling sound.

“Logan.” The voice wasn't distorted anymore. It was a male voice, and Quentin knew it, remembered it, he could _never_ have forgotten it, and, as he looked to Logan to gauge his reaction, he saw the man go pale and fall heavily on a chair. “Never would I have thought that hearing your voice would have filled me with _relief_.” The General was exchanging confused glances with Rogers, and it seemed as if Logan was about to have a stroke. They all kept silent, as if awaiting a storm about to unleash. “Am I correct in assuming my child is with _you_ , Logan, and relatively safe?”

Logan opened his mouth; for a while, no sound came out of it. Finally, he exhaled, “– Daken?” The others, who had apparently failed to recognise the voice, showed various degrees of shock at the name.

“ _Yes_ , Logan. I believe I asked you a question.”

Logan was clutching madly at his cane. “ _Yes_ . The child's with us, and he's safe. We apprehended the General –”

A sound came out of the speaker. It sounded an awful lot like a sob.  _Shit._ Quentin bit his lower lip, closing his hands into fists when he realised they were trembling.

Daken appeared to regain control quickly, though. “Mystique stopped updating me. Is she with Eike?”

The child's name, obviously. Logan shook slightly his head, pale-faced. “No, she –”

“Is she dead?”

“Yes –”

“ _Where_ is my child now?” Daken's voice was cold, and frankly terrifying. And the girl was still there with him.

No wonder he had been threatening the girl's safety, if he really was the father. He must have been beyond himself, if his reaction regarding that girl Quentin had seen in Japan was anything to go by.

“Wait a moment, son. Mystique said –”

“I'm sure she said everything she had to say in order to have you follow her quickly. _Where is my child?_ ” It was a low, dangerous growl.

“He's safe, he's with Broo right now –”

“With your _resident doctor?_ ” There was danger in his tone, a threat of violence barely kept together. Could he really harm the girl he had kidnapped? Quentin wanted to believe he wouldn't, but this could very well be way too much. “What have those animals _done?_ ”

The General was ashen. He was shaking his head with pleading eyes.

“We don't know yet. Daken, please, let's keep calm and –”

“ _Calm?_ I do believe I've kept far too calm for maybe a little bit too long.”

“Whatever they have done, the girl doesn't come into this,” Logan said, pleading. “Please release her and –”

Daken laughed, and it was hysterical. “Oh,  _yes_ . You're showing your true colors, as always.”

“I'm trying to avoid problems. Son – please show us your good faith, let the girl go.”

“Not until I have my child back.”

It wasn't unreasonable, it  _really_ wasn't, but having her stay there could mean her coming to serious harm. Quentin recalled the disturbing way that soldier had been tortured, years earlier. Recalled how Daken had been about to kill him when he had found him in Japan, just because he had thought he could harm his adoptive daughter, and had stopped only because he had recognised Quentin a  _second_ before stabbing him.

“At least _show_ us that she's fine. Please?” Logan was on his feet again, clutching at his cane as if his life depended on it. What a horrible way to reconnect with the son he hadn't seen for ten years. Nobody dared speak.

“I want to see my child.”

“Yes, he's with Broo right now, I'll have him come up as soon as Broo finishes –”

“Do I sound like I'm _asking_ , Logan?”

“No.” Logan clenched his jaw. “You sound like a distressed parent.” The word came weak out of his mouth, as if he couldn't believe what he was saying. He was pale with worry about the girl, as everyone in the room, but wonder was shining in his eyes. “I get it; I understand. Please, trust me.”

“Trust you.” There was a long silence, during which Rogers motioned not so discreetly to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to join him beside the restrained General. “You're about to receive a videocall.” Daken hung up.

The General's head fell on his chest. “Oh, thank you.  _Thank_ you –”

Rogers emitted a sound of disgust. “Shut up, for all that's sacred. I can't believe – Logan,” he looked at the man; they all looked at him. “Logan, we  _have_ to remove that girl from his hands.”

“Yes, I know.” Logan was green. “I don't know what he could do to her –”

“It's not as if he isn't _justified_ ,” Quentin heard coming out of his mouth. Startled, they all looked at him with different degrees of disgust. “You were as distressed as he was, Logan, not so long ago.”

“I would never harm a girl –”

“I'm not _condoning violence on the girl_.” Quentin spat. “But do me the favor of not acting so shocked. What would we do, if those we love were harmed?” _I certainly know what_ I _would do. I would burn the responsible alive._ Rogue was nodding, at least, and Storm, too.

Cypher was turning on the computers of the conference room, and probably also connecting the mainframe to their telephone line, because a few seconds later the videocall was projected on the wall. They lined up to see as the video flickered and showed a room whose walls were painted black, a room with no windows nor reflections to hint at where it might be located. At the center of the room was a chair, on which sat a blonde young woman; she was bound, blindfolded and gagged. She appeared unharmed.

Where was Daken?

He appeared from a corner, his face a careful mask, dressed in a plain shirt and loose trousers. He had his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed, and his hair brushed away from his face, held in a loose ponytail.

Logan took a step towards their own cam. “Daken –”

“Logan.” He inclined his head towards the girl. “ _Safe_. My child.”

“Let me talk to her, you _bastard_ –” the General worsened the situation.

Daken bared his teeth. “You should be very careful about what you say, General Williams. I remember your name. You were trying to get a hold of  _me_ , ten years ago. Right, Captain?”

Rogers stiffened; Logan looked at him.

“Steve?”

“Yes. He's the one I was supposed to bring Daken to, all those years ago.”

“And now you target my child.” Daken got closer to his own cam, his figure coming in front of the girl, keeping them from seeing her. God, he was beyond pale, dark circles under his eyes. _Has he slept at all?_ “Too bad I'm not my father and I don't play nice.”

“Daken –”

“Shut up, Logan. Let me be perfectly clear, General.” His eyes were cold and furious and terrifying, his face enormous on their wall. He had – he had wrinkles at the angles of his eyes? “Everything you have done to my child, you will receive,” he said through gritted teeth. “Every cut, every hit. You and your scientists. You disgusting animals.”

“My daughter –”

“Your daughter, your _daughter._ You fear I will harm her?” Daken walked backwards, and unsheathed his claws. The General let out a shout, mingled with Logan crying _Daken!_ and some of them cursing. Quentin hissed. Daken went behind the girl, his arm lowering, and it was a moment that lasted forever, Quentin sure they would have seen the tips of the claws emerge from the girl's chest, and really, could Daken be blamed for that?

But the gag slid down to the girl's lap; she emitted a sob, and began weeping quietly.

Daken stayed behind her.

“Jessica,” he said. “Have I hurt you?”

The girl shook her head, but Daken tutted. “ _Speak_ , girl. Have I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Have I threatened you?”

“No –”

“What have I said to you?”

“You – you said that you would have – threatened to harm me – but you wouldn't have, because – because –”

“Yes?” Daken clenched his jaw.

“Because you're not – an animal – like my father –” she hiccuped, and sobbed louder, her shoulders shaking. Quentin felt a wave of relief come over him.

“Good girl.” Daken put his hands on the back of her chair. “It's almost done, Jessica. You've been very brave.” He looked straight at his cam. Quentin looked at Logan: tears were streaming down his face. “My child, if you will.”

_God_ . Maybe this could be resolved relatively easily; maybe everything would be all right...

Rogers ruined everything. “Release her.”

Rogue whipped her head towards Rogers, wide-eyed. “Are you out of your  _mind?_ ” They all spoke at once, as Quentin kept his gaze on their wall, saw Daken's face contort into something really ugly.  _Jesus Christ, he's been way too reasonable, there's only so much one can take –_

Logan was speaking loudly. “Rogers, he's showed his good faith, for God's sake –”

“I have the duty to see her to safety –”

“You didn't think that when my little brother was _kidnapped!_ ” Rogue was shaking with fury.

“I didn't _know_ that! I'm doing what I have to do –”

Quentin was  _seething_ , enraged at Rogers' behavior, offended on Daken's behalf. And Rogers had nothing, absolutely no kind of influence whatsoever over them. They were the X-Men.

_Broo._ He contacted the alien.  _Stop everything you're doing, take the child and bring him to the conference room._

_What?_ Broo was confused.  _I'm checking his_ – 

Now _, Broo._

“He's coming up,” Quentin said loudly, walking towards their cam. He ignored the silence he brought about and focused on the cam, tried to school his features into something reassuring. “He's coming up, Broo's taking him up now. He's coming up.”

Daken's features softened utterly; he said something under his breath, which on the speakers sounded like  _of course_ . Then he nodded. “Thank you, Quentin,” he said, voice level.

“Quire,” began Rogers.

“It's Phoenix to you, Captain.” Quentin turned towards him. “You have no authority over us, I don't know why we're _listening_ to you.” He felt so horribly, disgustingly disappointed with the man.

“The girl –”

“I'm _sure_ the girl will be safe and brought soon to safety.” Quentin said forcefully. “Aren't _you_ , Logan?”

“Yes, I am.” Logan nodded at him. “Steve, let it be. We have this covered.”

“Logan, think about this –”

“I already _have_ , Steve. You can stay if you like.”

“I want Williams removed from the room,” echoed Daken's voice.

“Yes. Of course.”

“I don't want Eike to _see_ that vermin.”

“Yes, I understand.” Logan nodded at Iara, who took the General in her arms in a vice-like grip and dragged him away from the room. Rogers shook his head, but stayed put, and with him, his soldiers. They waited; soon the door opened and in came Broo, the kid clutching awkwardly at his hand. The kid stopped walking abruptly, huge eyes on the wall in front of him, and let out a wail.

“Hey,” echoed in the room, and it was so soft and so utterly delicate that Quentin felt his skin crawl. He turned; Daken was crouched low in front of his cam, the girl not in sight anymore. The cam had been lowered, too. His eyes – Quentin felt a pang in his chest. “Hey, monkey.”

“P-p-papa?” Quentin's head whipped again towards the child. He was sniffing hard and was hugging himself. “Pa-papa.” He took a few steps in the general direction of their cam; they parted to have him pass.

“Yes. I'm here. It's all right, monkey. You're safe.” If he could have come any closer to the cam he would have. He looked devastated.

“Ah – ah –” the child shook, and burst out crying in loud sobs, “Ma-ma-mama's _dead!_ Gra-gra-grandpa let her _die!_ ” Storm was hovering beside him; she looked at the camera, perhaps waiting for Daken's permission, and he nodded slightly. Storm went to her knees, motioned towards the child, but he cringed and hastily moved away from her; she stayed where she was, stunned. “I – I – I _hate_ him!” 

Daken bit his lower lip. “She was very happy to see you were fine, monkey. She went out happy, you know? Very happy.” Jesus Christ, what could one say to comfort his child in a moment like this? Daken was bound to say the wrong thing anyway, and he probably knew that.

The kid shook his head. “It was my  _f-fault_ –”

“No no no no no, monkey, no, it wasn't your fault,” Daken said quickly, “It wasn't, it _wasn't_ , listen to me monkey, please –”

The child was a sobbing mess. “And and and they hurt me, papa, they hurt me s-s-s-s-so  _much_ –”

_Red_ ; there was blood coming out of Daken's lip down his chin. He looked away from the camera and his eyes were ice. “Bring me that teleporter.”

Someone else was with him in the room; a male voice answered, “We haven't tested it yet –”

“ _Now_.” Daken turned towards the cam again, his features softened. “I'm coming, monkey, it's going to be all right. Hang in there, ok? Can you do that for me?” His voice was so soft.

“N-n- _no_ ,” the child shook his head. “There's S.H.I.E.L.D., you can't –”

“Yes, but they're outnumbered, monkey. I can take them down easily, you know,” Daken said cheerfully. 

“No, _no,_ mama always said to keep an eye on you, because you don't think straight when it comes to me and ma– _mama_ said to do it, always,” the child kept shaking his head and it was horrifying to behold, this tiny thing who had just seen his mother die and now was telling his father to stay away to _protect_ him.

“She did, eh? She would know that. I'll be fine, monkey, but I'm coming.”

“No, no, they'll _arrest_ you, and –”

“We aren't arresting anyone,” said Rogers. At least now he was doing the right thing. “We're protecting you, kid, we're the good guys, I promise. Your papa can come, we won't arrest him.”

“No, you're lying, _never_ trust S.H.I.E.L.D., never ever _ever_ –”

“Eike.” The child whipped his head towards his father's projection on the wall. “How many trustworthy people in there?”

“Ah – ah.” The child rotated on spot, seemingly counting the X-Men. “E-eight?” he whimpered. But there were way more than eight X-Men in the room - Then the child narrowed his eyes. “Seven.”

Daken cocked his head. “Yes, I see why you aren't counting grandpa right now. But seven's a lot, right?”

“I guess?” The kid was rubbing his arms. “B-but –”

“So it's going to be all right.” Daken went to his feet, and moved away from the camera. He returned a second later, some device in his hands. “I'd appreciate if you lowered your shields, Logan.”

Logan nodded at Cypher, who was at the terminal in a moment.

“The exact coordinates of the room?”

Broo gave them. Rogers spoke before Daken could do anything.

“The _girl._ ”

Daken looked at the camera. “I'll organise everything once I'm there, Captain. I do assure you, she  _won't be touched_ .” Before Rogers could answer, before he could stop him again with some doubt or the other, before any of them could really process what was happening, the situation horrible and unbearable, Daken disappeared.

He appeared in the conference room a second later, and staggered, managing to stay on his feet, but the device fell out of his hand smoking, as if it had fried. Those that were closest to him – Storm and Nightcrawler – motioned towards him, but he raised his arms to stop them; he raised his head, and he was bleeding from his nose, his ears.

_Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ_ – Quentin felt frozen in space. “Well, that  _could_ have been worse,” Daken said cheerfully. “Yes, I see  _why_ it needed testing.” He looked around, located their cam, and said, “Hang up, I'll be in touch.” They had no time to react as the screen blackened. It was a sort of frozen tableau, nobody daring to say anything, nor to move; Logan was swaying towards Daken, perhaps trying to decide whether to speak, come closer, say something,  _do_ something... this was the first time he had seen his son in ten years, and in a situation like  _this_ ; what was happening in his head? He must be devastated –

Daken turned again, and none of them existed, as if they were insects, nothing of importance, nothing to worry about, and in a few steps he was crouching in front of his son, who was staring at him with big, big, watery eyes.

“Hey. I'm here, monkey.” He didn't touch him, just sat there on his heels in front of him. “See? All in one piece.” He passed the back of a hand under his nose and wiped it off on his trousers. “Is it ok if I stay this close, sweetheart?” His voice was so soft; Quentin glanced around at the shocked, touched faces of those around him. Logan seemed on the verge of crying himself.

The child nodded.

“Ok. Can I touch you?”

The child nodded again; Daken shook his head slightly. “Only if you're comfortable with it, sweetheart. It's all right, you can think about it as long as you want.”

A pause; then the child nodded again. “Holding hands doesn't work,” he said, voice faintly audible, “I thought it would, but – but –” he sniffed hard.

“You think it's ok if I hug you, sweetheart?”

After a long, long pause, during which Daken stayed perfectly still and the child kept biting his lip, during which no one breathed, the child finally gave the tiniest nod.

Daken wrapped his arms around his child as gently as if he were touching the most delicate china, and the boy released a sound of abject relief and hid his face on his father's shoulder, throwing his arms around him, his little hands grabbing spasmodically at his shirt, and burst out crying. Daken was cooing softly, so softly, and Quentin felt his throat tighten, and knew he wasn't the only one having that reaction. This was terribly, terribly private, Daken showing a face that, Quentin saw as he looked around, some of them hadn't even thought existed. Logan had collapsed on a chair, his hands shaking around his cane, his face wet with tears, and Rogers looked nauseated at seeing that tiny, tiny thing shake with sobs like that. Quentin had vague ideas about what the scientists might have done to a mutant with a healing factor and ties to “their” damned Weapon X, and the thought was making him mad with rage.

“Ma-ma-mama –”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.”

“Am I – am I coming to live with you now, papa?”

“Yes, sweetheart, of course.”

“I like your house.”

Daken emitted a strangled sound. “Yes, me too.”

“They were so stupid, they thought grandpa was you, but I didn't correct them –”

“You've been very brave, sweetheart, very very brave.”

“And I knew you were coming. You and mama and auntie. Is auntie ok?”

“Yes, sweetheart, yes.”

“She isn't... she isn't... she isn't dead?”

“No, she's fine. She was so worried, she'll be very happy to see you, monkey.”

_Laura._ Quentin looked at Logan, but he didn't appear to have understood. He probably wasn't even processing what was being said.

“It was c-c-cold and sca-sca-scary and they, they hurt me, papa –”

“It's all right, sweetheart, I promise, I'm here now, I'm here.” How was Daken managing to keep his voice calm? That was years and years and _years_ of self-control at work, because it shouldn't have been _possible_. Quentin was shaking with fury, hearing angry screeches in his head – _control yourself_ – and apparently he wasn't the only one barely keeping it together: Rogue and Nightcrawler were hovering in the background, worried about their newly discovered brother, but not daring to move closer; Storm was clutching at her upper arms. In a far, far away part of his brain Quentin thought with detachment that at least Rachel had died for something good, to save this little kid.

“They, they cut me everywhere. And, and –” A violent sob, “And that hurt so so much, because they wanted to see if everything grew back, papa.” Daken wordlessly raised a hand to caress his boy's hair. Maybe he didn't trust his voice right now. “And they looked down, and they saw that I'm special, and they took s-s-something, but that didn't hurt.” Daken was rigid. They had _taken_ something? “And, and, and, and, and then he hurt me so, so, so much, so much papa, I wanted mama, and he said she wasn't going to come, but I didn't believe him, I knew she was coming, I knew you were coming – and he, he –”

“Who, sweetheart?” Daken's voice was straining at the edges. Quentin was hit with a violent need to hold him and barely managed to stay _put_.

“He – he. The big scary man you said not to trust never, ever, ever, _ever_ and you were right because he _hurt_ me –”

Daken, his whole body shaking, extricated himself slowly, oh so slowly from the kid to look at him, and caught his hands and said, very quietly, with a voice that chilled Quentin to the bone, “Victor Creed, sweetheart?”

The child nodded. Not a _breath_ could be heard in the room. Quentin, hands shaking, reached behind to hold onto something, anticipating something terrible, something horrible, seeing Sabretooth's horrifying grin over him, so many years before. _Oh, no, please. God, please,_ no. _Have mercy_ – Logan was on his feet, had taken a few steps in the pair's direction, face pale.

“What did he do, sweetheart?”

The child shook his head violently.

 _Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ, no, no – oh God, not this, not this – I will kill him, I will kill him, the fucking animal – please not that, please anything but that – that poor kid, I'm going to resign, I can't do this anymore – Vater Unser, der Du bist in Himmel. Geheiliget werde Dein_ – it was only at the German that Quentin realised what he was doing, and managed to shut all the voices down with effort.

“I have claws like you, papa, look!” The child said after a few moments of horrified silence, and a _snikt_ echoed in the room, six little claws coming from the backs of the child's hands.

“ _Ah_.” It was a sob, or maybe a cry held back, something utterly devastated and inhuman, but it was all swallowed back as Daken, holding delicately his child's hands, cooed, “Oh, I see. They're beautiful, sweetheart. Look at them! So sharp and pointy.”

“I wanted two and one hidden, but I have three. They're ugly, they're like grandpa's.” He pouted amidst the tears.

“No, no, see, they're perfect.” Daken reached with his fingers to caress one slightly. “They're beautiful. I'm very proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Really? They're stupid, they give no advantage, and –”

“No no no, they're perfect. Sweetheart?” Daken shifted and knelt, his face raised to look at the child. “Did the bad people make them go out when they cut you?”

“No.” A low murmur.

“And when did they come out?”

The child bit his lower lip, teary-eyed; Daken waited patiently.

“You – you remember when you said that, that, that if I had the claws like you they were coming out when something really, really, really bad was happening?”

“Yes. I remember.” Daken's answer was strangled.

“And you said that that wasn't going to happen because you would have never ever ever let something really really really bad happen to me.”

“I know, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”

“It's not your fault, silly, it's mama's. If I was with you it was your fault, but I was with her, so it's mama's.” It was the disarming logic of a child. “She let them take me.”

“She tried to stop them, sweetheart, you know that.”

“But she's dead, and it was my fault, so it's ok.”

“No, sweetheart, it's _not_ , it's –”

“So I was thinking about that when he was hurting me, and I thought that I really really wanted them to come out. It was a really really really strong wish, and so they did!” The child was smiling amidst the tears, and it was crooked and horrible and vicious, out of place on so young a face. “I kept him reaaaaally close, and I held him reaaaaally tight, and he couldn't move away, and I stabbed him.” He was still smiling. Daken wasn't speaking, and Quentin _had_ to move to see his face, and it was white and paralised. Logan was approaching them, too. Rogue had slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “I stabbed him in the face, and in the chest, and I think the neck, I stabbed him lots and lots and lots of times, especially the face, and he tried to stop me, but he couldn't get away from me because he was stuck ins–”

The sound Daken emitted wasn't human, a cry that encompassed a world of pain, a void, an inferno. He knelt there, head lowered, shoulders shaking violently, still holding the child's hands, and the child seemed a priest about to give the Eucharist. The air was so thick it hurt to breathe, tears at the corners of his eyes, a void in his chest, a pang so acute it sent jolts of pain through his throat –

“Papa?” The child's voice was quiet and scared. “It's all right, I think I killed him. He wasn't moving and they seemed very impressed –” He looked around. “I think you're pumping pheromones, you should control yourself, papa.”

A sob; Daken's shoulders stopped moving. “You're right, sweetheart, I'm sorry.” Slowly, slowly, Quentin could breathe again; he looked around and saw pale faces, faces green with nausea, the effects stronger in those closer. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ –”

 _God, I_ – Quentin took a step; Logan was closer, and the child stiffened and Daken's head snapped up and he turned and saw Logan and _snarled_ , an arm shoving the child behind him, another popping his claws, and –

“Over my dead body, over my dead _body_ , don't you dare, damn you, damn you to _hell_ , damn you to hell, _damn you, damn_ you, damn you –” He was slashing his claws with no direction, just moving his arm, shielding the boy, and Logan stood petrified, horror on his face.

“Daken,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the cacophony, “It's me, it's just me, it's only me. Look at me, son, I'm not blind anymore, remember, I'm not stupid, I know, I _know_. I'm just me. It's just me –”

“ _Logan_.” Daken stopped abruptly. They stared at one another, Logan grasping madly at his cane, knuckles white, wrinkled face white with worry and shock, and Daken repeated, utterly emotionless, “Logan.”

“Yes. Just me. You know what, son, we'll leave you here with your boy. Is that okay? We'll wait outside. Okay?” He navigated around Daken slowly, with care, at a great distance, Daken turning to follow his march, always with an arm in front of the child. “Take all the time you need, we'll be outside, we'll wait, I'll be outside.” Logan grimaced a smile and looked up to see them all staring at the three of them, with varying degrees of shock. It had been sudden and incomprehensible, and a sick, slick nausea was tugging at the back of Quentin's mind. “Come on, let's go outside.” Logan was begging, and Quentin moved in autopilot, the request sending his thoughts derailling in a vortex of terror and denial. They all followed, Rogue and Nightcrawler lingering behind, and then they were outside the conference room, Logan quietly closing the door behind them.

He let out a sob and leaned heavily on the wall, the cane a barrier between him and the world. He didn't speak.

It was way too crowded for what the situation allowed and slowly the corridor emptied, some leaving for classes – they had the students to think about too – some for pure discretion, some to go and see Rachel; till only the family, and Rogers and his agents, and Broo remained. And Quentin – he couldn't bring himself to leave. He had no right to stay there, he had _no_ right, only the worry burning a hole in his stomach. Perhaps he could leave and try to reach Laura, warn her they had the child. Maybe Daken hadn't had a chance to inform her. There _had_ to be something he could do, he couldn't stay still and do _nothing_ , he _had_ to do something.

After a while, Rogers spoke quietly, hesitantly.

“Logan.” His escort stilled as Logan stirred. “I'll get to the bottom of this, I swear.”

“To the... bottom?” Logan raised his head to look at Rogers. “You're right, Steve. We _are_ at the bottom. This – this was the last straw.”

“Logan –”

“ _No_.” Logan raised a hand. “A _child_ , Steve. Do you realize what your government has done?” He looked at him with fiery eyes. “I remember all too well what was done to me. To do _that_ to a child? No. No, Steve, no. Remember Laura? Remember when you caught her, you _released_ her to avoid something like this. And now they tried again. What kind of men –” He shook his head. He was speaking quietly, probably to avoid the child overhearing with his enhanced senses. “They allied themselves with Creed. They allied themselves with a criminal, they took my grandson, they _did_ this, Steve.” He gritted his teeth. “Do you want me to stand aside and say nothing, do nothing? How can you go back to that place, be among those people –”

“Change comes from within, Logan –”

“Change? Nothing will _ever_ change. We'll always be cattle, weapons, inhuman but needed.”

“Logan –”

“Do what you have to do, Steve, but don't promise me you'll get to the bottom. Do what you have to do, and I... I'll do the same.”

The moment stilled and stretched as Rogers processed what was being said. “Logan.”

“No.”

“Think about what you're saying.” His soldiers appeared ready to bolt. Quentin touched the mind of the one he had overheard earlier, the one who, for some fortuitous case, hadn't a chip, and saw that he was nauseated, was agreeing with Logan. At least one of them could side with them if needed, or if not, Quentin could possess him or put him to sleep.

“I _have_ , Steve.”

The standstill was broken by a keen sound coming from Nightcrawler's pocket – his distress signal.

“What, now?” Logan said, exhausted.

Nightcrawler caught the device and looked down at it. “Laura. _Gott in Himmel...!_ ”

“What, is she ok?” Logan straightened himself, leaving the wall and leaning on the cane.

“Ja, sie... I'll be right back.” Nightcrawler bamfed away without further explanation, but Quentin could certainly guess where she was. _New Mexico. She was Daken's contact for the kid's release. She was_ already _waiting on site._

Daken must have warned her.

Sure enough, Nightcrawler reappeared a minute later with her, and she was in military gear, her clothing covered in sand. She didn't lose a second.

“Situation?” she asked Logan briskly. He merely stared at her, uncomprehending.

“Laura, what...”

She whipped on her heels towards Quentin, not much for patience in this. “Quentin?”

He stiffened. “A branch of Weapon X. Creed was there, your nephew thinks he killed him. Creed... Creed assaulted him, Laura,” he added in a whisper. Her face set in a snarl.

“Thank you. Are they in here?” At his nod, she went rigidly at the door, Logan catching her arm just as she raised it to knock.

“Wait a second, Laura –”

“Now's really not the time.” Her features softened. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry you discovered it like this.”

“Did you _know –?_ ” His voice shook with utter betrayal.

“Of course I knew, Logan. He's my brother.” Laura raised her other arm and knocked, once. “Daken? Can I come in?” She opened the door a second later. “I'm sorry,” she repeated to Logan, and went inside.

Logan stared at the closed door. “Kurt?” His voice was little.

“She was hiding at a few miles from the facility.” Nightcrawler crossed his arms.

“God.” Turning towards them, Logan was pale, his gaze flickering for a second on Quentin's face, realizing what his readiness at answering Laura meant. _Well, I only knew those few things, I never was in contact with Daken..._ but probably Logan was thinking he was.

“The facility was swarmed with people,” Nightcrawler added quietly, and Rogers shook his head.

“I need to report back with something, to ease this. I need the girl, Logan, and the General –”

“ _Ease_ this?” Rogue was on Rogers' face in a second. “Oh, sorry for the inconvenience, Captain –”

“I'll do all I can to calm the waters, but I need this. Can't you –”

“Have some _mercy!_ ” Logan hissed, voice strangled not to be heard from inside. “You want to go inside and ask Daken for the girl? By all means, do it. Distress him. His child has just seen his mother die, his child has just been tortured for days, his child has just been... raped by a monster your government permitted to – in exchange for what, even –” Logan passed a hand through his hair.

“Logan, you need to calm down or you'll have a stroke.”

“Don't _tell_ me to calm down!”

“Some things never change,” Daken's voice echoed, and they all started and looked at the just now closing door, Daken pale and stiff in front of them. “Load it all up on your shoulders, Logan. Choke with other's pain, fuel yours.”

“Daken –”

Daken shook his head. “Please not now. Captain,” he looked at Rogers, “The girl is being transferred as we speak and returned to the location from where she was taken. She'll resume her vacation in L.A. with only her admiration for her father hurt. Is it acceptable?”

“I'll need to confirm this,” Rogers said quietly.

“Of course. I'm not leaving, Captain, I'll be amenable to your coming back here. But I suggest you leave quickly,” he added, steel in his voice. “Remove that animal from this building before I track him down.”

“Son, I understand you're upset, but threats won't do any –” Rogers was raising a hand to clasp Daken's shoulder, but Daken stepped back abruptly.

“I'm not your son, Captain. I'm doing this as a courtesy to _you_ , because I owe you for not bringing an amnesiac child to the same fate. But if you think I'm _threatening_ –” he bared his teeth, “I'm just getting started. Upset? You think I'm _upset?_ ” He sneered. Nobody dared say a word, Logan paling. “I don't think upset covers it, Captain. I don't think you'll like when I open the box. I suggest you brace yourself, because my response will be commensurate with how you'll deal with this infestation. Consider your government warned.”

Rogers stiffened. “And I'll have to report your numerous threats to the Defence. Consider yourself warned.”

They nodded at one another, something passing between them, maybe recognition, and Rogers turned, asking Nightcrawler to accompany him and his men to the General. As they left, a heavy silence reigned for a while, Daken crossing his arms, hands grasping spasmodically at his upper arms. Logan didn't speak, sensing that it might be better for Daken to initiate any dialogue.

After a while, Daken addressed Broo.

“Doctor. I understand you were examining my child, earlier?”

“Yes.” Broo adjusted his spectacles on his nose. “I didn't manage to do much. He had just woken up when Quentin contacted me.”

“Woken up?”

“We had to forcibly anesthetize him, he was too distressed.”

“I see.” Daken stood silent for a moment. “I'd appreciate if you resumed your examination.”

“Of course. I don't suppose you have his medical files?”

“It's all in Madripoor, I –” Daken clenched his jaw. “I don't trust anyone in Madripoor right now.”

“Of course.”

“Someone told Creed. And Creed told _them_ –” he turned slightly his head towards Logan, without looking at him. “Can you confirm he's dead?”

“I didn't see him, son. I didn't smell him. I don't know –”

“Okay. One thing at a time.” Daken closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply, and when he opened his eyes he looked straight at Broo.

“You could find nothing. The healing factor has kicked in, everything should be in place. But maybe you'll manage to find traces of trauma, something –”

“I have the best equipment on the continent, I'll do all I can.”

Daken shook his head. “I'm not disputing that. I know you'll do everything you can, Broo.” The name escaped his lips with an odd familiarity, but Broo didn't react. “According to what Eike told me, I have reason to believe they removed the uterus. It could have grown back by now, but maybe there will be a trace of the surgery –”

“Excuse me.” Broo reacted with professional aplomb. The remaining three of them weren't so discreet, but at least managed not to emit sounds. “I believe you just said uterus.”

“Yes, I did.” Daken squared his shoulders and kept his gaze firmly on Broo, avoiding looking at Logan or Rogue. Quentin was just beside Broo, so he discreetly moved a few steps to the right. “Eike is a hermaphrodite. Right now she's just a girl, she does that sometimes, she's experimenting with the shapeshifting. But I told her to let you look at everything. She'll stay put, but if she changes to male or back to female don't insist for her to change back to neutral, she'll do it in her own time.” He waited. The threat was unspoken but clearly audible.

“Of course.”

“I – I don't know –” Daken gritted his teeth and breathed quietly through them for what seemed like an eternity. Quentin wanted to reach out and hold his hand. Ten years and he still had some of those responses. “I don't know what Creed did exactly.”

“I'll try to ascertain it.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Taking a breath, Daken turned and opened the door, calling inside. Laura emerged from the room with the child in her arms. “Monkey, the doctor is going to visit you now.” He reached out to hold a little hand. “Is it ok?”

The child nodded.

“Do you want auntie to come with us too?”

The child hid her face in Laura's hair. “I want only auntie.”

Daken blinked. “Of course, sweetheart.”

“You smell a lot,” the child mumbled amidst all that hair, “and you look tired, and you could cry again and I don't want to see you cry, auntie won't cry, she's more controlled.”

“Of course, sweetheart, you don't have to explain if you only want auntie.” His face said something else, his eyes blinking rapidly.

“But I don't want you to think I don't want you, papa!” The child turned in Laura's arms to look at Daken with big, yellow, earnest eyes. “It's just, I don't want to see you cry, ok? I love you a lot.” She tended her arms towards Daken and he got closer and the child threw her arms around his neck. “Reeeeally a lot.”

“Love you too, monkey.” Daken left a kiss on her forehead.

He watched them go, following Broo and Laura's path with his eyes till they vanished down a corridor. He was rigid in his posture, arms crossed as if they could shield him from everything, jaw set. Rogue looked like she wanted to ask something, but, after some time, she shook her head and left, quietly saying that she was going to see Rachel.

 _Go away_ , Quentin thought, as he watched Logan stare at Daken, _go away right now, dammit. I have no right to be here, I –_

Daken collapsed against a wall with a shoulder, eyes shut tightly, and Logan motioned towards him.

“Son?”

“Fine. I'm fine.”

“It's going to be all right, you can stay as long as you want, we won't let anyone come close.” There was so much Logan wanted to ask, it was obvious, but Daken kept his eyes closed and didn't turn towards him. “Your kid's gonna be alright –”

“Shut _up_ , Logan.” He turned his head towards the wall. “Please?”

“Son, you can't stay here like this. When's the last time you slept?” Logan got just a little closer.

“Ah – I don't know. Three days ago? Was it three? Four?” He cleared his throat. “It's all right, I've been through worse.”

“Son, you need to sleep.” Logan held out a hand towards Daken as if he wanted to clasp his arm, but his fingers flexed as if he didn't dare do it. “You need to –”

“I need you to go _away_ , Logan. Please. Go off and – be a headmaster, I don't know, but go. Not right now, Logan, I beg you.”

“I –” Logan caught himself. “Of course, son. I'll be – I'll be in my office if you need me.” He left leaning heavily on his cane, back weighened down by all that had happened.

“Thank you,” Daken said quietly, and by the faltering of Logan's step he had heard it.

Time stood still. _I should go_. Quentin followed Logan's slow steps with his gaze. _I_ really _should go away. Right_ now. He looked at Daken. _But he sent only Logan away. He needs a shoulder, he_ – Daken was slowly sliding down the wall till he was sitting on the floor. He didn't speak; he just leaned on the wall, head resting against it, eyes closed. _If only I could do something. If only._ The silence was deafening, only Daken's quiet breathing and his own audible. _What can I do? Nothing. This is different, and my coddling would be meddling_. And yet he couldn't bring himself to go, that little kid's image burned in his brain, but he had no _right_ to be here –

“You're still here.” Quentin started at the whisper.

“Yes.” He shifted on his feet. “Sorry. Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Ok. I'll just... stay here, then. I'm here.”

“Yes.”

Maybe this was enough, he thought as he leaned on the opposite wall. He couldn't offer words of comfort – he had no experience whatsoever in this, he had no children of his own, he couldn't understand the pain. He wasn't so self-centered to think that _his_ presence was enough, but perhaps _a_ presence, a silent presence, knowing there was _someone_ in there with you. That was comforting, in a way.

He looked at Daken. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, a thin web of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Quentin had noticed them earlier; they looked out of place on Daken's face, a strange sign of aging. They must have been brought about by the worry he had experienced these past few days. A night of sleep, now that his child had been found, would wipe them away.

Sabretooth. The fucking animal. The disgusting bastard. He hoped he had _suffered_ ; Quentin would have been more than happy to burn him alive.

The poor kid. That poor, poor kid. Such strenght in that tiny body. Quentin recalled the child's future self coming to them ten years earlier. He had stabbed Logan, if he remembered correctly.

Now they knew why.

“Why,” spoke Daken suddenly, “Tell me why you're staying.”

 _Because you need me_. “Because you can't stay on your own right now.”

“Why?”

 _Because you're_ suffering. “Because you could need someone, and I'll be here.”

“Why?”

 _Because you're thinking about Romulus._ “Because I don't know what's going on in your head right now, but I know you'll need to lash out, and –” he didn't know how to end the sentence. _And I want to help you, I just want to help you, I'm so so so sorry about your child, please let me do something, at least I'll be useful to you, at least I won't ruin this. I ruined everything else, but not this, let me be your friend, let me help you._

Daken laughed quietly. “What's going on in my head? It's simple to find out, come in, come inside.”

“I'd never do that to you.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Quentin clenched his jaw, “I've disrupted your privacy enough already.”

“Ah, yes.” Daken opened his eyes. They were so tired. “Your little tour in my memories.”

_I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I –_

“You think you know me.” _I do. I know I do_. “You think knowing some things about me gives you the right to stay there and watch me crumble –”

“No, _sustain_ you. That's what friends do.”

“You're not my friend.”

 _I could be. I want to be. Please_. “I –”

“You're not my friend, Quentin. We've spoken _twice_ , years ago.That's not the basis for a _friendship_.” He sneered the word. “Unless you're counting all the time you spent with Hiro. Who, I hate to break it to you, was not me.”

“I know that.” _Don't you dare twist this like that._

“So little and scared, prey of nightmares. Is that it? You think you know me because of those?”

“It has nothing to do with that. Look, I can't just pretend I don't know things, but I'm not relying on those. You – you _can't_ stay on your own right now.”

“You've already said that.”

“But it's true. I'm just offering my presence because nobody should stay alone while his child –” he swallowed as Daken shut his eyes, “That's it, there's nothing else behind, I swear.” _Let me help you. Let me help you._

“ _I_ don't need anything.”

“Of course you do. You're going through –”

“ _I'm not going through anything!_ ” Daken snapped his eyes open, and his face was paralised in a pained snarl. He hissed, “ _I_ am not going through anything. _I_ am not – this is not about _me_ , you stupid _child_ , there's my child in there,” he clutched at his chest and Quentin stood frozen, _at least I managed to have him lash out, he needs this_ , “And I'm not that self-centered, this has nothing to do with _me_ , this is _not_ about me, I – I should worry about what's happening in there, my child's in there, what kind of father am I, am I like Logan, am I? I keep seeing _him_ , I – I –” He slapped his other hand over his mouth, bending down, and Quentin reached him in a few steps and knelt beside him. _I knew it._

He raised his arms towards Daken, but nothing else. “No, listen, it's normal. It's normal, we're humans, it's normal to relate to other things, we can't keep everything packed neatly away in separate boxes and only pick things out when it's convenient –”

“I'm better than this, I can _control_ myself, I can. Eike needs me and – and –”

“It's _normal_.” Quentin snapped, and caught Daken's shoulders. Daken looked up at him abruptly, eyes wide. “It's normal, you're not a lesser father for this, and nobody's faulting you, it's normal, it's _perfectly_ normal, we'll help. We'll all help. Laura's with your kid, and Broo will tell you everything you need to know, and you can stay here, ok? Do you want me to reach your daughter?” The girl he had seen in Japan must be a young woman by now.

“ _No_. No, no, no. She's fine, she's –” _I won't have you mingling in_ mutant _business!_ “She was with me, she knows already. She's fine.”

“Okay. Do you need anything else?” Daken shook his head, but was trembling.

“ _I_ don't need anything, I –”

_Jesus, you're stubborn._ Fuck it all. _He could stab me, but fuck. It. All._ Quentin released Daken's shoulders and caught him in a tight embrace.

Daken went rigid for a moment, struggled with his hands pressed between them, and when he finally got them loose he embraced him back, embraced him so tight, his hands rigid, fingers dug so deep in Quentin's back that they would leave bruises. He hid his face in Quentin's chest and sobbed, once, twice, thrice, till it was an endless sequence, body shaking violently. Quentin held on tight, rocked them both, tried to say something. His throat tightened. What could he say? No words existed that could soothe this sort of pain. He could only hope this was enough.

Quentin lost track of how much time they spent like that; at some point, he began to see movement in the nearby corridors, signalling the beginning of the schoolday, and he hid them both from being heard or seen, subtly suggesting to anyone approaching the corridor that they had very urgent business to attend to elsewhere.

Slowly, so slowly, the sobs quieted; and Daken kept his tight hold on him, and eventually choked out against his chest, “Thank you.”

Not trusting his voice, Quentin weakened his hold on him, expecting Daken to retreat at this point; but Daken choked, “ _No_ ,” with a strangled voice, and shifted a bit and dug his fingers in Quentin's shoulders.

“Sure. All the time you need,” murmured Quentin. He ignored the pain. It was something he had been excelling in, of late.

Daken shifted his head against his chest. “I'm hurting you.”

“Not at all.”

“I am.” The pressure on his bones and muscles lifted, and Daken's hands now lay lighter on his back. “ _Eike_.” His hair brushed Quentin's chin. “I was wasting time here and –”

“Nobody approached the corridor with information about your kid, I checked. I would have told you. And –” hesitantly, he raised a hand and placed it on Daken's head. “You weren't wasting time. Is... is this ok?” He passed his fingers lightly through Daken's hair.

“Yes,” Daken exhaled. “How much time has passed already? Perhaps I should approach Broo?”

“He'll notify you as soon as he finishes, he's nothing but thorough.” He hesitated. “Your kid is in good hands.”

“I know that.” Daken was relaxing in his hold, breath quiet against his chest; Quentin could feel its warmth through the fabric of his shirt. He kept carefully caressing Daken's head, fingers working through the tangles in his hair. It was a mess of knots, but was yet soft. He had said he hadn't slept in four days; he must have tied them sometime during those terrible hours. Quentin released the loose tie and continued his ministrations. He wanted to reassure him, but how would empty reassurances be met? This was safer, and comforting in its own way. As he disentangled a particularly obstinate chunk of hair, he lowered his head a bit to get a better look at it and froze, noticing the gray amidst the black. Gingerly, he passed his fingers over Daken's scalp, raising the hair and seeing the gray roots. How could it be? It wasn't possible, not on someone with a healing factor – had it been the stress? But no, the gray stopped evenly after less than an inch, almost as if the hair had been dyed –

Something that obviously Daken hadn't had the time to redo these past few days.

And the wrinkles, the wrinkles at the angles of his eyes –

“Have you had a telepathic update about Eike?” Daken said urgently.

“What?” Quentin squeaked. _Oh, God, he's –_

“Your heart's beating faster and you had a change in breathing. You're obviously not aroused. Did they update you?”

– _he's_ aging _._

“Quentin? Quentin, _tell_ me.” Daken dug his fingers in his back again with force: this time it _was_ with the intent to hurt. _There's no time to think about this now, what a asshole I am, he's worried –_

“No. No, no. No updates.”

“You're _distressed_. If you're hiding something from me –”

“I was thinking about Rachel.” Quentin said the first thing that came to his mind. “Sorry. She – she's dead, too.”

“ _Rachel?_ ” Daken retracted his fingers from Quentin's flesh. “How?”

“She... she was on the team that attacked the facility. I'm sorry, I didn't want to upset you, I was thinking about your kid and –”

“She died to save Eike?”

“Yes.”

“You were close.”

“Not really –”

Daken tightened his embrace. “I'm sorry.”

Stunned, Quentin held him back. “Don't worry about that now. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have thought about other things right now, you don't need to be stressed –”

“It was my fault.” Daken didn't seem to be listening anymore. “It was my fault, because I was so stubborn, if I had had more contacts, if Logan had _known_ , if – if I had listened to Mystique, damn her, if we had contacted you sooner, maybe you'd had found Eike earlier, and maybe Creed wouldn't have – wouldn't – wouldn't – and I should have sent my men with her too, what _possessed_ her to go around on her own after Creed was released, I should have done something, I should have stopped her – I should have – I should have –” he suddenly laughed shakily, sending vibrations through Quentin's chest. “I'm behaving like Logan, I'm _just_ like Logan – what-ifs and what-should-have-beens that don't mean anything – just excuses to wallow in self-hatred like a damn _idiot_ –”

“Hey.” Quentin held him tighter still. “Hey, no. It's normal, you're a parent, you're worrying about your child –”

“Drawing attention to myself instead of focusing on what's _important_.”

“You're focused. You _are_ focused. You – your kid's going to be fine, Eike is going to be fine –”

“ _No!_ ” Daken snapped his head up to look at him. “Don't. Don't do that. You can't do that, not you.”

“What – what can't I do?” Quentin looked down, seeing something strange in Daken's eyes, they were almost feverish. _Could very well_ be _fever, he hasn't slept_ _in_ days – he felt Daken's fingers tighten on his back.

“ _Lie_.” It was almost a whisper. “Comforting little empty lies that mean nothing. You can't. You never lied, don't start now, don't. You're honest. You're _clean_. You're – you're a good person, Quentin.”

_You're a good person, Quentin-san._

Quentin felt his throat tighten and held back the tears, because Daken couldn't see them right now, certainly didn't need to see someone else cry right now.

_I'm not. I'm really not._

_You're idealising me. You – if you knew what I have done –_

_I betrayed Idie's trust, I made a mess with Evan, I –_

_I'm the_ reason  _Evan killed Warren. And now_ Apocalypse _ roams the Earth _ –

But Daken didn't need to hear his dramas right now.

So Quentin braced himself. “I'm not lying. I  _know_ your kid will be fine. You know why? Because I saw how you care for your own. I saw how you cared for your daughter.” He was confessing on having eavesdropped, all those years ago, but this was more important. “I know you'll take care of Eike, and she  _will_ be fine. You are a good father.”

“You don't know that.”

“ _You are a good father_. You'll take care of her, and she will grow up to be fine. She –” _Raze_. “I – I _saw_ your child, you know. Years ago. Do you remember when you were here and the school was attacked?”

Daken emitted a strange sound, a quiet snort and a sob held back at the same time. “How do you think I could ever forget?”

“Yes, well, remember, it was coordinated by people from the future. I know it's a lot to take in, but your child was among them. And she – he – he was a male, he showed up as male – he was fine.” _Terribly vicious, but fine. He stabbed Logan, but since he's blaming him for his mother's death, it's honestly understandable._

“I know.” There was an odd sadness in Daken's eyes. “I met him.”

_Oh?_ When Raze had showed up again at their gates, hands up, when he had asked to be sent back to his own time, he had seemed calmer than he had been when he had attacked the school with the rest of the Brotherhood. He had carefully avoided Logan and only addressed  Storm . He had refused to divulge Mystique's location, but then again, they had found out about her being in Madripoor not so long after that. He had reconnected with his dead mother and his father; that was why he had been so quiet and had suffered in silence all their vicious remarks and their anger as they waited for someone from the future to come and get him. “I – I know it's not nearly enough, not  _now_ that's all so fresh, but at least you – you  _know_ it's going to be all right.”

Daken turned his head away and extricated himself from his embrace.  _Have I said something wrong? Have I_ –

“He had the chance to tell me _straight away_ what would happen, to _warn_ me. _Why_ didn't he –” Daken shut his eyes tightly as he leaned again on the wall. Quentin reached out to catch his hand.

“It's going to be all right,” he repeated. Empty, empty and pointless, so pointless. _I'm sorry I can't do more. I'm sorry_ –

“I'll make it so. I'll take care of her. And I –” Daken squeezed Quentin's hand. “It's time I speak with Logan, too.” He turned his head towards him and opened his eyes again and smiled, a weak, tired smile. “Thank you.”

_Always_ .

They waited in silence for Broo to return.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next: **Interlude.**_ “We don't _ever_ talk about politics!” she snarled, and finished her dessert, which she had almost forgotten, in a few angry spoonfuls. Laura was looking at her own unsheathed claws; perhaps the argument was an old one. “I'm going to change things, otousan, just watch me.”
> 
> **Fanarts**
> 
> by [decaykid](http://www.decaykid.tumblr.com)
> 
> __________________
> 
> original posts on Tumblr: [I](http://decaykid.tumblr.com/post/96278001536/some-sketches-inspired-by-gealachinamistyworlds) & [II](http://decaykid.tumblr.com/post/97834165536/daken-and-quentin-another-quick-sketch-from)


	4. Chapter 4

_Interlude_

“Tsuki mireba  
Chiji ni mono koso  
Kanashi kere  
Waga mi hitosu no  
Aki ni wa aranedo.”

Hyakunin Isshu – Ouye no Chisato

 

 

To say he was nervous would have been an understatement.

Logan walked slowly, Laura at his side, as the waiter led them through a number of rooms. It was a fancy restaurant, probably the best in the city, he thought, as his gaze pierced the elegantly dressed customers, the finely adorned tables. His eyes seemed to move automatically, checking entrances, possible escapes, scanning for potential assassins.

Laura tugged at his left sleeve, and whispered, “If Daken chose this place it means it's  _safe_ , Logan.”

“But –”

“You're retired, remember? Leave those thoughts to me.” Laura flashed him a thin smile. She was still a bit self-conscious around him, as she'd been ever since he'd discovered she had been lying to him for roughly ten years. The thought still made his head spin; she had always known of Daken's location, she had been seeing him, she had been seeing – God above – his grandson. Granddaughter. _Grandchild_.

That poor child. It had been like reliving a nightmare, reliving his relationship with his son all over again; seeing that wailing, kicking child proclaim his hate for Logan, for having let his mother die – and then Daken had shown up, bringing with him a truth that still left Logan speechless. A father. Daken was a  _father_ ; and his child had been taken and tortured and – had undergone other horrid things.

He and Daken had talked quietly, afterwards; or as quietly as the both of them could talk. There had been a fair bit of shouting too. But Daken, had seemed to Logan, had reached a new state – attained a sort of peace, perhaps. He hadn't been interested in playing a blame game anymore; it wasn't as if all their past interactions had been wiped out, but as if – as if they were no longer important. Petty, insignificant things.

When Laura had approached him some days earlier, telling him that Daken wished to see them, Logan hadn't contained the surprise, nor the happiness. He had longed to see him again, and to see his granchild and ask how the kid was doing. Which was, on thinking about it, such a stupid question. How  _could_ the child be doing? Obviously not well. Laura had been uncomfortably silent on the matter, even if he knew Daken was surely updating her.

They reached a private room; only a table was set, and as they approached it he saw it was for four people. Laura had a strange reaction, a brief change in her smell, and when Logan looked at her she had a tiny smile on her lips, and was watching him with a glint in her eyes.

“It's a good thing you'll already be sitting for this,” she said, and, perplexed, Logan accepted the waiter's assistance in getting himself seated. As Laura was offered her seat by the waiter in turn, Logan looked at her inquisitively.

“What do you mean?” She merely placed her elbows on the table, her face over her intertwined fingers, and maintained an inscrutable gaze. She ordered appetizers with a security he hadn't ever seen on her and then dismissed the waiter, catching the menu and burying her face in it.

Strange.

“So. Uh.” Logan looked around; the room was enormous, and the reservation price must have been quite high. “He's always been _here_.”

“Yes.” Laura was quickly scanning her menu and he did the same.

“Japan.” He shook his head. It had never crossed his mind. “What does he do?” he asked, reaching for a fork and examining the delicately carved handle.

“He runs the country.”

The fork fell from his hand. “ _What?_ ”

Laura looked up from the menu. “Almost kidding. He controls all criminal activities. But don't tell him I  _know_ ,” she winked at him.

“Wait a second, Laura –” Daken's threat of having World War Three begin on his _word_ was assuming more menacing hues, now. And Logan couldn't shake off the feeling that Daken's threats to S.H.I.E.L.D. would soon become _more_ than that, now that it had become clear that neither the government nor the agency would take responsibility for the child's kidnapping. “When did this happen?”

“Right away, I believe.” She sighed and placed the menu over the table. “When I saw him at Weapon X, he told me he had no plans, but I think he was thinking about this already. When he approached me again I didn't notice anything, but when I came here to meet Eike – not so much time had passed – I noticed his escort. We never talked about it and he acts as if I don't know a thing, but he knows I'm not that stupid. We're happily pretending.” She caught her menu again.

“Doesn't it bother you?”

She shrugged. “Have you  _been_ reading Japanese newspapers? Violent crimes are diminished.  _Regular_ citizens are safe. He runs this with a steady hand. I suppose minor internal issues are dealt with quietly.” She turned her head slightly, picking up the scent of the waiter as he approached with their appetizers. “I actually think that if this country must soak in crime, Daken's the lesser evil.”

The waiter didn't even flinch as he placed the food on the table, his face a mask. Logan blinked, waiting for him to leave the room.

“This restaurant is _safe_ because Daken runs this place too, ain't it?”

“Probably.” Laura popped a rolled piece of meat into her mouth. “He wouldn't risk his child's safety and he wouldn't risk you being seen in public with him, Logan.”

Logan grunted, stunned by her blasé answer. He reached for the tray and took a roll. The meat was thin, and it enveloped what looked like a soft cheese. The cheese smelled strongly of mould. “What's this?”

“Bresaola. It's Italian, and it's _delicious_.” Laura took another roll.

“The meat or the cheese?”

“ _Both_ delicious. The bresaola is the meat. I don't remember the name of the cheese, but – just try it, Logan.”

He popped the roll in his mouth and a sharp tingling sensation settled on his tongue. Well. It was certainly – interesting.

His nose caught Daken's scent a second later and he straightened on his chair; Laura kept eating, turning just a little bit to look at the just now opening door.

Daken appeared first; there was another person behind him, and Logan squinted his eyes, trying to see Eike, but the child was nowhere in sight; instead, a young woman appeared, sliding her arm under Daken's and holding his forearm.

_What?_

She was taller than Daken, had a slight frame, and was wearing a light, black dress that reached her knees. Her hair was cut in a bob. Who was she? She was  _way_ too young for Daken. Logan struggled with his cane, trying to get up. Laura put her hand on his arm. 

“It's better if you stay in that chair, Logan.”

“Why, what –” he started as he saw the couple had reached the table; Daken had a solemn look on his features. “Where's Eike?” escaped his mouth, as he was too stunned for greetings.

Daken shook his head slightly. “Hello, Logan. Eike doesn't want to see you.”

Logan winced. “What –”

“And I'm not forcing my child to do anything.” He cocked an eyebrow at him, and disentangled his arm from the young woman's, who was looking at Logan with an almost amused expression, and then put his hand over the woman's _shoulder_. “Logan. May I present to you my daughter, Maiko.” She grinned at Logan.

Logan stared at the woman; at Daken; at Laura's thin smile. He stared, stunned, and couldn't speak.

Daken cocked his head to the side. “Don't tell me this was all it took to shut you up? Had I known sooner I would have picked up a stray earlier.” The woman snorted and batted Daken's hand away from her shoulder.

“You're a _menace_ , otousan.” 

“ _Ah_.” Logan put a hand over his mouth at the last word. He stared at the young woman, at Daken's fond smile, and couldn't believe what he was seeing.

“Look, you've overwhelmed him.” The young woman huffed. “I _told_ you to tell Laura to warn him!”

“Maybe I wanted him to have a stroke.”

“Oh, _please_ , he could believe it –”

“He _does_ always believe what I say.”

“I'm sure it's a horrid story.”

“Not fit for dinner.”

“Oh, all right,” the woman gave Daken's arm a playful shove, and Logan sat there overwhelmed by their banter. The young woman smiled almost reassuringly at him, and then bowed. “Yoroshiku onegaishimasu. I'm Maiko.” She straightened up. “I'm honored to meet you.”

“Ah –” Logan managed to stand up. “The honor is mine.” He looked from her to Daken and then back to her. His _daughter?_

A stray.

She had already moved to Laura, hugging her tightly. Laura returned the embrace, smiling at Logan from over the young woman's shoulder. She had been right; it had been a good thing he had been already sitting for this. He fell back again in his chair, staring awkwardly at Daken, not knowing what to say. Daken appeared almost as embarassed as him, now that they found themselves face to face for the first time since their last emotional encounter at the school.

“Oh, you've taken bresaola and gorgonzola!” Maiko was telling Laura, and she sat next to her, chatting away and tucking into a roll. Laura was listening quietly, intently, and Daken was left with no choice but to sit right beside Logan.

Daken slid into the remaining seat without a word and caught his menu, focusing on it for a while.

“Creed?” He murmured suddenly, and Logan shook his head.

“It seems your kid really killed him. I don't know where the body is, but it was confirmed by multiple sources –” Logan trailed off when he saw Daken's jaw tighten. He wanted to take his son's hand, comfort him somehow, but was afraid to touch him. Their conversation of ten years ago replayed in his head, with _all_ it had entailed, and he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Daken set the menu on the table, tapping a finger on it lightly. “I'd recommend you fiorentina, Logan. You prefer steak, don't you?”

It was a dismissal of any possible questions, and Logan sighed and nodded. “Yeah. I'll take that.”

It was a mostly quiet dinner; it was obvious that the dynamics were set already and that he was to remain an outsider. Logan wanted to ask about Eike, but couldn't bring himself to push too much. He had finally learnt to give Daken his space and wouldn't let his curiosity ruin this tentative reconciliation. Maiko never mentioned her – he supposed adoptive? – sibling, but her shoulders were set and her face tight with worry, as were Daken's; and he constantly checked his phone, probably for updates about the kid. It was obvious they weren't having nearly enough sleep.

The girl had – surprised him. He still couldn't wrap his head around this. Eike he could understand; Mystique could have presented herself pregnant at Daken's door, for all he knew. But the girl? What was their story? Daken appeared fond of her, the worry disappearing from his features only when she laughed. She had a bright voice, and was entertaining Laura with impressions of teachers of hers, it appeared; Logan and Daken's side of the table was quieter. They had briefly discussed Italy; as Daken had cut his own meal into neat little pieces, he had reminisced about museums in Tuscany and operas watched in Verona. Logan vaguely recalled that city, but his time in the country had been spent primarily in the south, in 1943, so there wasn't much for conversation – especially as World War Two was a difficult subject for the both of them.

They were attacking their desserts when Logan dared ask. “How did ye two meet?”

Laura lowered her head to stare into her cup of ice-cream. Oh, God, what had he said wrong?

“Otousan saved me,” Maiko said, flashing him a smile and then another, bright, at his son.

He looked between the two of them. “From what?”

“They were raping me.” She said this with the calmest expression in the world, digging her spoon into her dessert and bringing it to her mouth. Logan winced.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –”

“Oh, don't be!” She grinned at him. “Otousan killed that animal. And then he took me in, and the rest is history.” She had another spoonful.

Logan stared at her, uncertain on what to say, and looked back at Daken, who was eating a dark chocolate mousse with a very focused expression. He wouldn't offer any assistance; Logan was on his own now.

“You make a beautiful family,” he said eventually, hoping it would be neutral enough and not too clumsy, and saw Daken's thin smile out of the corner of his eye.

“Thank you, Logan-sama,” said Maiko.

“Ah, no. Don't be so formal. You can call me grandpa, if you want,” escaped his mouth, perhaps too eagerly, as she very nearly winced and her gaze turned to Daken.

“Otousan?”

Daken waved a hand. “Do as you wish, darling.”

Maiko looked at Logan again, and there was an apologetic smile on on her face. “I'm sorry, I'm more comfortable calling you Logan. I hope it's ok?”

“Of course.” Logan felt like he had missed something; something had passed between them. “So how old are you?”

“Twenty-three!” And she launched herself into describing her studies. She was studying to be a lawyer, and spent ten minutes explaining to him what she thought about the Utopia Convention and the X-Men's policy.

“I mean, it's obvious something doesn't work in your approach,” she concluded, almost red-faced, “- or else certain things wouldn't happen.” It was obvious what was she thinking about, and Logan couldn't think of a thing to say, almost shrinking under her piercing, fiery gaze.

“Maiko.” Daken's voice could have cut the air. “We don't talk about politics at dinner.”

“We don't _ever_ talk about politics!” she snarled, and finished her dessert, which she had almost forgotten, in a few angry spoonfuls. Judging from the focused expression with which Laura was studying her now unsheathed claws, perhaps the argument was an old one and something it would be better not to interfere with. “I'm going to change things, otousan, just watch me.”

Daken stiffened. “Maiko –”

She didn't heed him, turning towards Logan. “I'm going to join the government, and I'm going to change things, make them better. And he says it's stupid!”

“I don't say it's stupid.”

“Oh yes you _do_ –”

“I say you need to think. Be rational.”

“Ah!”

“Be cold-headed.”

“I _can't_ be cold-headed,” and Logan's head was whipping from the one to the other. “You aren't being cold-headed, so why should I?”

“ _Maiko_.”

“So _you_ can do whatever you want –”

“I'm rational, Maiko.”

“Oh, _yes_ , I've noticed.”

“Ah,” Logan interjected, trying to calm them down. “When you say you'll make things better –”

“For mutants.”

“But –” Logan held back, not sure on how to ask without sounding rude.

“No, I'm not a mutant.” She crossed her arms. “That doesn't mean I can't do anything.”

“You _can_ do _anything_ ,” said Daken fiercely, and that seemed to appease her, her features softening to accomodate the smile that came to her face.

That seemed to mark the end of the dinner; and as they left the restaurant, Maiko and Laura walked ahead of them, talking perhaps about more normal things, as he and Daken walked behind in silence. Logan couldn't still believe this was happening. It had a layer of blessed normalcy to it, and it was soothing to know that his son had taken a new road in his life – still a criminal road, yes, but Logan had learnt not to meddle. His son was an adult. He made his choices. Logan could live with that and still love him.

Daken cut out in front of him. “Walk with me,” he said, and led them away from the sidewalk. Logan followed, leaning uncertainly on his cane, turning to watch Laura and Maiko.

“They're not coming.”

“Leave them. They're protected.” Daken walked a few steps ahead of him, slowly enough for him to follow easily, but didn't turn. “And they know where we're going.”

“Where are we going?”

“I want you to meet somebody.”

“Who?” Logan managed to reach Daken and walk beside him. “Another child?”

“Unlike you, I'm familiar with the concept of birth control, Logan.”

Logan shook his head, recalling his other children – the ones he had been made to kill. He had wondered, at the time, whether Daken had known something about it, whether he had been involved somehow – at his lowest moment, he had even been struck with terrible hallucinations that sought to confirm his suspicions. The group's name – the Mongrels – couldn't have been a coincidence. But that was far in the past now, and he didn't want to ruin this evening by asking a question whose answer he dreaded.  _You shouldn't ask questions whose answers you can't stomach_ , he recalled Daken saying to Evan all those years ago, before falling apart and baring his soul there in the corridor.

_Evan_ . Logan briefly closed his eyes, wondering where he had gone wrong with the boy, wondering how he had failed to foresee what would happen, wondering whether there was anything they could have done to prevent his turning. He knew he wasn't the only one in the school tormented by these thoughts; he saw it in the kids' – not kids anymore, no – tormented, tired faces, he saw it especially in Quire's eyes.

But he needed to focus on the present, not dwell in the past. “You haven't answered. Who do you want me to meet?”

“Someone important.”

“Oh?”

“I don't know what's possessing me, you know.” Daken turned towards him, and for a while walked backwards in the empty street, hands in his pockets. He shook his head. “But I'm lying; I know. I knew I would have done this eventually. And now you're here, in Sendai. Look at that.” He shook his head again and resumed walking normally. 

For a while they didn't speak. They followed the course of a river, its trickling the only sound. The silence stretched, uncomfortable, till Logan had to ask.

“How's your child?”

He saw Daken's muscles stiffen under the fabric of his shirt. “How do you think, Logan?”

“Unwell.”

“Yes. Congratulations.” He sighed and lowered his head. “They hurt my child,” he said, slowly and clearly, and there was ice in his voice. “You know the feeling, don't you? Look at that, I actually understand how you felt, now.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Sorry doesn't mean anything.”

“I can only offer you that, Daken. I'm sorry. If I had the chance –”

“Let us not play what-should-have-been, I beg you.”

Silence again; Logan didn't dare speak anymore, walking slowly and following Daken, till, some minutes later, he saw Daken's feet stop.

“We're here.”

Logan raised his head; it was –

– it was a cemetery.

_Oh_ . Logan paled.  _Oh, God._

A buddhist cemetery, from the look of it, and Daken was destroying its little wooden gate with a kick. He stood in the midst of the fragments and turned to look at him. “Aren't you coming?”

Shaking himself from his paralized stupor, Logan approached him, feet uneasy on the debris. He was too old for this, and he staggered, but Daken caught his arm. “Careful.”  _Oh, God. Oh, God_ –

They walked amongst the tombs for a while. Logan couldn't breathe, couldn't think, his arm  _still_ held by Daken, and soon they stopped. In front of a tomb; Logan knew whose it was before raising his eyes at it to read the kanji carved in the stone.

_Akihira. We meet, finally._

He didn't know why Daken was doing this. He glanced at him; in the dark he couldn't quite make out his features, but he seemed pensive.

“Son –” his voice caught in his throat. 

“Please, don't make this bigger than it is.” Daken thrust his free hand into his pocket. “I only thought you should meet the man who raised me.”

_The father who loved you_ . Was this why Maiko hadn't wanted to call him grandpa? Perhaps she already had one.

Logan swayed on his feet, overwhelmed by what was Daken doing, by what he was showing him. Something deeply private, and painful, and fresh in a way that couldn't, maybe, ever go away.

“Son, you do me a great honor.”

Daken scoffed. “I told you not to make this bigger than it is.” But there was something in the way his voice strained at the edges, something that hit Logan and gave him a violent urge to hold his son. He held up a hand, and kept it there, in the air.  _Don't you_ dare  _touch me again! Don't you ever_ _touch me again! Don't you_ dare  _ever_ again!

Daken turned his head to look at him, and saw the hand still up in the air, and shook his head.

“For _fuck's_ sake, Logan, if you want to, ask. I never said anything about _asking_.”

Logan blinked. “Can – can I hug you, son?”

“If you have to.”

Logan felt laughter, or maybe a cry, come out of his lips, and he grabbed his son in a tight, single-armed embrace, the cane falling to the ground; the only thing holding him upright was Daken's firm hold on his other arm. Daken was rigid, and cursed when Logan began crying quietly.

“There's no need to cry, old man, come on. Don't be annoying.” Logan laughed, laughed at his son's obnoxious, almost childish words, and felt a hand patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Calm down, Logan.”

_I can't_ . Logan turned his head against Daken's chest to fixate his gaze on Akihira's tomb.  _Thank you_ , he thought,  _thank you for loving my boy, thank you for taking care of my boy, thank you, thank you, thank you_ – 

He held his son, not daring to speak, hoping the contact would tell Daken all he wanted to say, all his regret, all his love; till he heard a vibration, and Daken's hand left Logan's shoulder to take his cell phone out of his pocket. The bright light flashed on Daken's face, showing he wasn't as impassive as he would have had Logan to think. Daken's reddened eyes focused on the screen as he read the message – and then he returned it to his pocket and patted Logan's shoulder.

“Let's head back.”

He retrieved Logan's cane and offered it to him; in silence, they retraced their steps out of the cemetery, walking the strangely deserted roads till they reached a more well-lit area. Daken headed for a limousine waiting near the sidewalk. “Do you care for a lift?”

“Laura –”

Daken opened the car door. “Already inside.”

Laura and Maiko were inside; the latter was sprawled on her seat. “It's done, then?”

“Yes.” Daken kept the car door open for Logan, who climbed inside with some effort and sat, his old bones thankful for the comfortable seats.

The chauffeur drove slowly through the crowded streets.

“Thank you, Daken. Walking to the hotel would have been a nightmare.” Laura was looking out of the car window, a furrow in her brows as she watched cars and passerbies.

“Anything for you, sister.”

Logan saw Laura's smile on the reflection.

“Did you have fun?” he asked.

Maiko launched herself into a description of the club she had dragged Laura to, a place which apparently had been too crowded and loud for Laura's hypersenses; that was why they had headed for the car almost immediately.

“But I'm _so_ returning, otousan. It was great.”

“Mmm.”

It was so domestic and normal, and Logan's heart was swelling with pride.

“I –” he began, “I'd love to do this again, son. See you again.”

Logan heard Maiko's heart skip a few beats. Daken looked at him, something flashing in his eyes for half a second, and then cocked his head to the side. “Sure, Logan. I'll think about it. If you'll still want to see me, we can work something out.”

“Of course I will.”

Daken looked out of the car window. “I'll text you, then.” A pause, and then, “We're here.”

They got out of the car, and Daken embraced Laura for a moment and shook Logan's hand like he had done when they had parted ways at the school. Maiko was more enthusiastic, hugging Laura fiercely, and, after a moment of hesitation, lightly embracing Logan, too. “I really wish I could see you again,” she said against his ear; and then they were gone, the limousine just another car amongst many others.

“Well,” Logan said, turning to look at Laura. “That was beautiful.”

Laura smiled at him. “I'm really happy he did this.” She caught his arm as they walked into the hotel, and took her cell phone out of her pocket. Logan saw she had kept it turned off during the evening.

There was a crowd just at the entrance, near the big TV screens. Even the hotel's staff was staring at them; people were pale-faced, and so Logan turned his attention to the screens too.

Laura's phone began buzzing. Buzzing, and buzzing, and buzzing; she must have missed many calls –

He stared at the fuming ruins on the TV screens. Laura hissed, staring at her phone, and her hand tightened on Logan's arm; and Logan couldn't turn away from the flaming wreckage of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier; filmed, it appeared, from up high.

“ _Fuck_ , Daken,” Laura hissed under her breath, and Logan stared at the strings of words on the big TV screens:

crashed in New Mexico – thousands between dead and wounded – no civilian victims –  government facility – experiments – the President denies knowledge – General Williams – been dead for days – bled to death – horrifying wounds – only S.H.I.E.L.D. responsible – unauthorized experiments – S.H.I.E.L.D. will be dismantled – the President assures – unauthorized –

And Logan recalled a cold, cold, cold voice enunciating clearly in the quiet night:

_They hurt my child._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ **2026** The flames engulfing him, his mind colliding under the force of Quentin's crush, the screams, the – When he opened his eyes, Daken was looking at him. 
> 
> _The epigraph:_  
>  Tsuki mireba  
> Chiji ni mono koso  
> Kanashi kere  
> Waga mi hitosu no  
> Aki ni wa aranedo  
>  _This night the cheerless autumn moon_  
>  _doth all my mind enthrall;_  
>  _But others also have their griefs,_  
>  _for autumn on us all_  
>  _Hath cast her gloomy pall._  
>  translated by William N. Porter [1909]


	5. Chapter 5

3.

“Say my name  
As every color illuminates.  
We are shining  
And we will never be afraid again –  
And when we come back we'll be dressed in black  
And you'll scream my name aloud;  
And we won't eat and we won't sleep  
We'll drag bodies from the ground.”

Florence + the Machine – _Spectrum_

 

 

**2026**

 

Etiquette dictates for murderers not to attend the funeral of the one they killed, so Quentin settled on the roof of the school as the lawn filled with thousands of people.

_Half of them are not even here because they're_ sorry, he thought bitterly.  _Politicians and Generals. They're_ happy,  _probably_ . _It isn't every day that half a team of X-Men gets wiped out. Fucking assholes_ – 

He had no right to think these thoughts. 

He wondered what the reporters were saying, down there, but didn't want to open his mind and listen in on the vermin below.  _In a mysterious turn of events, the X-Men have decided to hold a funeral for the one that caused so many victims, too –_ something on those lines, probably. It had been Idie to insist, sweet Idie who had said they owed it to him, that he had not been at fault, that he had been corrupted by power; and then she had added that, if they kept among them someone with huge potential to go dark like Quentin – ah, the  _menace_ of the Dark Phoenix – what kept them from honoring the friend they had known and loved before it all went downhill?

So Quentin had resolved to stay on the roof. It wasn't something they had told him to do; nobody had approached him to tell him to stay away, but he had seen the looks; and the thoughts had reverberated in his brain.

_X-Men don't kill._

_There could have been another way._

_Quentin, how could you._

_There's always another way._

_That was horrifying._

_How could you –_

_Yeah, well._ Quentin laughed hysterically on the rooftop, grateful nobody was around, because his mirth could have been seen as insulting.  _They weren't there, were they?_

It was fine, really. He would pay his respects later.

And it was nice to stay on the roof – carefully hidden from sight, too, we don't want to scare the children at home – and look down. From this height, they were all insects, no face recognisable. Heroes and military and friends and foes alike.

The cemetery on the backyard was really starting to get crowded. Years upon years of fear and rejection and stubborn heroism tended to do that. But you know, we're the X-Men, we protect a world that fears and hates us, yadda, yadda, yadda, and all that jazz.

Look at them, the leaders of the Earth, so grateful for having had the threat removed at no cost to them. Already thinking of backstabbing them, gritting their teeth behind their smiles. Hypocrites, the lot of them. And, of course, the X-Men were no better, opening their gates as they had.

It was better for him to be on the rooftop, because had he been down there he would have lost his patience.

And after the ceremony there was the reception, too. Politicians and heads of state left, the reporters left as well, and only heroes remained. Really, this was a formality; they too would leave soon. Quentin decided to stay on the rooftop and stare down at the rows of headstones, the fresher graves in the front row too many.

He felt a presence behind him and didn't turn, touching the owner's mind in a light whisper to ascertain who the hell had thought to come up here. But he smiled when he recognised the intruder's mind.

“Hey, Broo.”

“Hey.” The alien settled beside him, legs dangling in the air. “Nice view.”

“Right?” They sat in silence for a while, the evening air nice on their faces. “Shouldn't you be down there?”

“No, I don't feel like doing that.” Broo swung a bit his legs, his wings spreading and brushing Quentin's shoulder. “You can go down, you know. Nobody's going to bite you.”

“I can hear them, Broo.”

Broo adjusted his spectacles on his nose. “Do you fear you're losing your grasp on your powers?”

“What? No. It's just that I can't help but listen in.”

“Ah. So it appears the patient is punishing himself.”

“You asshole.” Quentin smiled affectionately. “What of it?”

“It doesn't seem constructive.”

“Mh-mh.”

“Quentin.”

“What?”

Broo hesitated. “You know I don't blame you, right?” He swung his legs again. “You did what you had to.”

_Kill me_ .

“Yeah.” Quentin fought the nausea. “I know that.”

_Kill me, Quentin._

“I'm serious, Quentin.”

_Please. I'm sorry._

“I know.” Quentin turned his head to look at his friend. “I know, Broo. Not that it helps, but hey, thank you anyway. At least I know one of you isn't scared shitless of me.”

“You didn't lose control, Quentin.” Broo was looking at him, red eyes glistening with worry. “I took great care to study the videos, from _every_ perspective. There certainly wasn't a shortage of material. You did it on purpose, and you did well. He couldn't be stopped. Some were blinded by sentiment,” he said, professionally detached, “But you kept cold-headed and did what you needed to do. It was a field decision, nothing more.”

“Wow.” Quentin grimaced. “Is this what being dissected on your table feels like?”

“Idiot.” Broo reached behind and hit him on the head. “Probably.”

Quentin snorted.

“If I ever felt you were losing it,” Broo added, ice in his voice, “I would stop you.”

Tears gathered at the corners of Quentin's eyes as he wrapped his arm around Broo. “Thank you, buddy.”

“Yes, yes.” Broo's wings shivered. “Stop it, that tickles.”

“What, this?” Quentin held on tight and they sat in silence for a while, watching the sun set over the horizon. There was movement on the lawn; people were leaving, finally. “Hey.”

“What?”

“Thank you for staying here.”

“Don't _thank_ me, I'm not doing anything special.” Broo hugged him back, albeit awkwardly, with Quentin's arm and his own wings in the way. “You're such a baby.”

“A big crybaby.”

“Most definitely.” Broo patted him on the back. “Don't torture yourself.” He stirred and rose, stretching his wings to full width. “Are you coming in?”

No. He really couldn't. Not now.

“I'm staying for a bit. Then I'm going to – to say goodbye to everyone.” He pointed with his chin towards the tombstones.

“Okay.” Broo lingered for a moment. “Don't stay here alone all night, Quentin. Please.”

“Pfff. Who do you take me for?” Quentin grinned.

“For yourself, of course.” Broo bent down and patted him on the head. “Idiot.” He left after that, leaving him alone with his thoughts again.

_Most definitely not constructive, Broo_ . But really, how could he not think about this? It had been his fault. Broo didn't blame him; _yes_ , he knew that he had done what he had to do – he couldn't have done anything else.

_Kill me, Quentin._

But he couldn't help but think something had gone horribly wrong along the way, before; that he had had a hand in this. That everything had begun so long ago, so many years before, that they hadn't noticed the growing unease – and  _Quentin_ should have, really. He  _should_ have. If he hadn't been so focused on himself, maybe he would have seen the germs in Evan's mind and – oh, really. This was too dangerous. He couldn't load this up on his shoulders, could he?

But he did. It was horrible enough that he still hadn't slept because everytime,  _every_ damn time he closed his eyes he saw Evan engulfed with flames, screaming –

He saw Warren prone on the ground, wings soaking in blood, he saw Evan looking at him with horror in his eyes and then a coldness setting in.

He saw Evan sitting on his bed, hugging his knees, eyes wide and filled with tears.

Evan beneath him, Evan above him, Evan's head on his shoulders,  _if at least one of us could be out of this circle of predestination – if they went back to their time, maybe – maybe you wouldn't be the Phoenix anymore, Quentin, and you'd be safe, you'd be safe from me –_

And in trying to restore the timeline, he had brought about his  _own_ demise. 

Warren's death had been an accident. Quentin knew it had been an accident, he had seen it in Evan's eyes. But the coldness that had appeared then –  _that_ had chilled Quentin to the bone.

_Always, always trying to meddle with time. We never learn, do we?_ Quentin shook himself and saw it was pitch black already. He had been so lost in his memories that he had lost track of time. He reached out with his mind, scanning those in the mansion; many were asleep. Others were having sex. Nothing like a good deal of death to highlight the transience of life. Quentin took flight and lowered himself slowly, slowly, slowly down onto the lawn – then he made to clear the distance between the mansion and the cemetery.

There was a person in front of the first row of headstones. They were just sitting there; Quentin didn't yet recognise them, the distance between them still too great. He lit up a hand and held it high as he approached them. It was a man, with short grey hair and a formal two-piece. One of the dignitaries from the funeral? Why hadn't he gone away yet? Quentin had no intention of dealing with this shit right now.

“Excuse me,” he said when he was close enough, trying to sound calm. If the man turned and recognised him as the Phoenix, he would have screamed and run away at the speed of light, and would have told some reporter that the Phoenix had threatened him. They had no need for such bad publicity right now. “Are you lost?” Was he even American? Maybe Quentin would have had to wake up Cypher to translate.

The man stirred, and turned his head towards him. He had sunglasses.  _Oh, wow. It's pitch black, man, what are you even –_

“You possess the uncanny ability of coming upon me when I'm like this.”

Quentin's heart skipped a beat as he recognised the voice. 

And now he could see which headstone he was sitting in front of, too.

_ Oh, God, you're here. You're here, and everything's fine, and – _

He removed his sunglasses, and the flames caressing Quentin's hand were reflected in his stunning blue eyes. He hadn't changed a bit, save for the thin wrinkles at the corners of his eyes: the delicate web appeared to have claimed more skin, or maybe such a thought was prompted by a flicker of the light –

_ No, wait, keep it together. First things first. _

“How did you manage to get in?” Quentin got closer, and glanced around. “Did someone see you?”

“Sweet Laura smuggled me in.”

“Did she? How sweet of her to smuggle a wanted terrorist onto our lawn.”

Daken laughed. “Oh, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yeah, sure.” Quentin snorted. “S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“I heard, yes.” Daken said casually. “What a terrible tragedy.”

He couldn't fool him and he knew that. But honestly, Quentin would have done the same in his stead. “You're on the list of primary suspects.” Him being the father of the child they had kidnapped and tortured, and then them not acknowledging what had happened at  _ all _ .

“I had nothing to do with their demise.”

“Sure. That's why you've left your hair like that and why you have those huge sunglasses and why you're here at night. Very incospicuous. Some would say you're trying to avoid being recognised.”

“Did it work?” Daken passed a hand over his short hair. 

“I thought you were some asshole.”

“Well, that I am.” Daken grinned, but then he cocked his head to the side, smile fading. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, sure.” Quentin crossed his arms, spreading the flames so that they encircled him. He felt suddenly cold, so cold.

“You don't look fine to me.” Daken turned towards him slightly, resting his hands on the grass. “I didn't see you at the function.”

“You were here? With that many heroes? There were S.H.I.E.L.D. ex-agents, too.” 

Daken pointed at himself, at his glasses. “People only see what you show them. In this case, just one of the hundreds assistants of much more important people.”

Quentin nodded, head turning towards Logan's tomb. “So. I'm – I'm sorry for your loss.”

Daken made a non-commital sound. “I was just here for Laura.”

_ Liar.  _

“Do you mind if I sit here? I haven't paid my respects yet.”

“It's your lawn.” Daken shifted a bit to give him space and settled cross-legged.

“I can return later, if you want some more time –”

“Don't make me laugh, we'd said what we needed to say already.” 

_ You hadn't, evidently, or you wouldn't be here _ . But Quentin sat all the same. They sat in silence for a while, Quentin glancing sideways at Daken's set features.  _ How have you been _ , he wanted to ask,  _ and your kids? Are they fine? Please tell me Eike's fine _ . And at the same time, he wanted to beg his forgiveness, for what Evan had done.  _ Evan. _ Quentin gritted his teeth, and his heart ached.  _ Oh, Evan _ –

“That woman,” spoke Daken suddenly, “The one that gave the eulogy.”

“I wasn't here, I –”

“The time-displaced. Jean Grey.” Daken's lips curled in a sort of grimace. “She said something that made me think.  _ That's right _ , I thought.  _ That's right _ .”

“Oh?”

“She said that Logan died doing what he did best.”

_ Oh. Wow _ . What could he say to that? That was very touching of Daken to say – 

“ _ Being a damn idiot _ .” Daken's hands closed into fists. “Barging into situations like a damn  _ idiot _ .”

“He didn't,” Quentin said quietly.

“He  _ did _ . Stubborn, stupid old man.” Daken was shaking his head. “There was no need for him to go with you. With that fucking  _ cane _ of his. What did he think he could do? Tell me. What the hell was going on in his head?”

“He wanted to help. And you knew him, stopping him would have been –”

Daken laughed, but there wasn't amusement in his voice, it was bitter. “Help? Some help! Lo and behold, he died for nothing.”

_ No. No, I can't accept you thinking that _ . “He didn't die for nothing. He –” Quentin shut his eyes tightly, recalled those horrible moments. “Killing him stirred something in Evan, he – I don't know what Logan said when he was close enough, but after that, Evan – Evan was there. He was Evan, just Evan, and he –” Quentin sobbed. “He asked me to –”

_ Kill me, Quentin. Please. I'm sorry. _

The flames engulfing him, his mind imploding under the force of Quentin's crush, the screams, the – When he opened his eyes, Daken was looking at him. 

“He was your friend,” he said quietly. “I'd forgotten.”

Quentin snorted, feeling tears at the corners of his eyes. “He wasn't my friend. He – it was complicated.”

“Ah.” Daken's hands twitched. He was still looking at him, with something akin to tenderness, perhaps, in his eyes. Quentin didn't trust himself anymore. He recalled the softening of Evan's eyes,  _ kill me, please _ , and sobbed again. Daken stirred. “Would – I don't know what I'm doing, mind you. Would it be better if I held you?”

“God, yes.” Quentin sobbed again.  _ Shit. I'm a mess _ . Slowly, Daken went to his knees and settled at Quentin's side, and embraced him lightly, ignoring the flames even as Quentin smelled dinstinctly the scent of burning flesh. Horrified, his mind once again back to Evan's death, Quentin made it so that his flames couldn't harm Daken, so that they would just spread light, and rested his head on Daken's chest, grabbing Daken's arm with his hands. He sobbed again, staring at Logan's tomb. “I kept thinking it would have resolved somehow, you know. I kept thinking – Evan's gonna come around, he's gonna be himself again. But – I don't know where I went wrong. I don't know where we went wrong –”

“You're taking away his agency,” was Daken's firm whisper.

“What?”

“You're taking away his will, his decisions, and loading them up your shoulders. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to him.” Daken held him tighter, as if he could sense he was going to protest. “We had this conversation, I recall. I told him he had a right to be whatever the hell he wanted to be. Even a villain, yes.”

“No, he – he was kind. He –”

“He  _ decided _ to become Apocalypse. Don't take that away from him. If you truly cared about him, don't insult him like this.”

“It was just a mistake. A fruit of the circumstances –”

“We're all of us fruits of the circumstances, Quentin. That's not an excuse, nor a justification. That leads people down the road of what-should-have-been, and that's a dangerous road.”

Quentin stayed silent for a while, sensing the common sense behind the words but refusing to believe them. That would mean he had no fault, that would mean he had no responsibility. Was he really going to let it go like that?

But he saw the meaning. Daken knew what he was talking about, Daken who had been taken and broken and mended and taken and broken and mended again, Daken who had had to deal with the same attitude from Logan. Yes, he could see how to Daken this was an important point to be made. Logan had thought everything Daken was had been his fault, for not noticing. Daken had taken what he was and worn it with pride, hadn't let Logan destroy it.

Daken had played the same game of what-should-have-been when his own child had been hurt; had he really let  _ that _ go?

He couldn't ask him such a painful question.

“I cared about Evan,” he whispered. “I did.”

“Then don't insult him.” Daken repeated.

Nodding, Quentin cried silently for a while, grasping madly at Daken's arm. He knew this was right, and at the same time it felt so wrong. But Evan hadn't asked to be taken back. In the end, he had realised what he had been doing, but he hadn't begged forgiveness. He had asked for  _ Quentin _ 's forgiveness, yes, but nothing else. He had permitted Quentin to stop him, when he could have just as well surrendered. If he had thought what he was doing was wrong, if he had  _ really _ thought that, he would have stopped on his own.

“I won't,” he whispered. He desperately searched for something else to say, not trusting he could face this conversation any longer. It was just too fresh a wound. “How – how are your kids?”

“Fine. They're fine.” Daken shifted a bit, and appeared to rest his cheek on Quentin's head. He didn't elaborate. 

“Eike?”

“Fine. As fine as can be expected. He still has nightmares.” Daken's throat seemed to tighten. “He's a strong kid.”

“He takes from his father.”

“Please.” Daken lightly brushed his cheek on Quentin's hair. It was a strange, almost intimate gesture, that made Quentin's chest ache. “I'm trying. I'm doing all I can. I – I don't know how to handle this.”

“I know you're handling it to the best of your capabilities.”

“That's not nearly enough.”

“You –” Quentin hesitated. “You know what he's going through. I'm sure it helps him. You know what to avoid, and what you can do. I know he feels you care, even if you're confused.” Quentin readjusted his grip on Daken's arm. “Is he at home with his sister? Were you afraid he wouldn't have been safe here? Your daughter, too, if she had wanted to come – We would have protected them. If Laura had told us you were going to come –”

“Eike didn't want to come. Refused to come. Yes, I would have had problems to hide him if he had decided to, but I would have managed to. I asked him, but he didn't  _ want _ to. So ma– yes, my daughter stayed at home with him, even if she wanted to say goodbye to Logan. She liked him, but Eike – Eike has always refused to see Logan.” He shifted; his breathing seemed to change.

Of course, Quentin had wondered if father and son had managed to mend their relationship somehow; after making sure Eike would be fine, after that long, long wait, Daken had put his child to sleep in Laura's quarters and had disappeared to Logan's office. They hadn't come out for hours; at one point, they had taken to shouting at one another in Japanese, and Quentin had had to stop himself from going close enough to understand what was being said – but, after a while, the shouting had stopped. When, some days later, Daken left with Eike and Laura, he and Logan had shaken hands.

And apparently they had seen each other again. 

“He liked to read.” Daken added, voice strangled, and Quentin sensed the longing in it and felt his throat tighten.  _ I'm sorry. It's my fault. You can keep saying it wasn't, you can all keep saying it wasn't, but Evan _ wouldn't  _ have done all that if only – if only _ – “Would you believe that? I wouldn't have  _ ever _ believed that. All  _ bub _ and beer and cigars, so terribly unrefined, but he liked to read. He loved these really cheap Nineteenth Century novels about wildlife –  _ great masterpieces _ –”  _ Evan robbed you of this. I robbed you of this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry _ – Quentin tightened his hold on Daken's arm. “And he had never been at the Opera. He spent the  _ entire  _ overture asking why was the curtain _ down _ . I told him, shut up, this is not one of your musicals, this is  _ art _ . Real art. When the curtain's down and you see nothing but the drapes and you  _ revel  _ in the music, in the darkness.” He was tightening his hold on Quentin. “And at the end he was sobbing.” He snorted. “ _ Va'. Gioca, gioca, _ ” he said softly, so softly. It was Italian, wasn't it? Quentin wasn't so versed in operas, either. “ _ He _ chose it, of course, the idiot – I thought to indulge him, it was such a wonderful idea to bring me to see _ that _ out of all operas in the world, the fucking, fucking  _ idiot _ –” He emitted a strangled sound. “Or maybe he did it on purpose, to have an excuse to  _ clutch _ me later. Annoying old man.” There was a pause, a pause that stretched itself till it was unbearable, and Daken's hold was getting tighter and tighter. “I don't understand why it hurts so much. I couldn't  _ stand _ him. Tell me why it hurts so much, Quentin, please.”

“Daken –”

“I should have killed him when I had the chance. I should have killed him when I  _ hated _ him. I shouldn't have meddled when that buffoon tried to drown him –” He laughed, but it didn't sound like laughter, it sounded like something hysterical, something fighting its way through his throat, fighting viciously against sobs. Quentin wanted nothing more that to turn his head up and look at his face and – “At least it would be easier. I would still be with Romulus, blissfully unaware of everything – who knows, maybe that would have been better –”

“ _ No _ ,” choked out Quentin.  _ God, no.  _ Not the animal, not the bastard. “No, you can't say that.”

“No, you're right. I wish none of  _ this  _ had ever happened. I wish I had stayed in that tomb forever –”

_ No. No _ . “Please stop it.”  _ You've gotten so far, and this – the pain is normal. It means you're alive. It means you can feel. _

“And I'm making this about me, I'm doing just what he did, and  _ he  _ is the one buried here in the ground. Do you have cameras pointed here, Quentin? Just in case he starts screaming, you should be ready to dug him up –” Quentin felt chilled to the bone at the implication, at what was Daken thinking about. 

“He's dead,” he said quietly.

“You can never be sure, with us; he could wake up again, and it's not a pleasurable experience to stay in a tomb forever.” Quentin felt his hair was beginning to dampen, and it wasn't for the dew.

“He's dead, Daken. He's gone.”

_ Just like Evan, just like – oh God. Oh, God _ . Quentin sobbed, dug his fingers in Daken's arm.  _ Stop it. I can't take this anymore, I can't _ –

Daken emitted a strangled laughter. “I'm not very good at this, am I? I meant to comfort you, but I turned this about myself. I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. You've always been there for me, Quentin. Tell me about Evan, if you want to. I'll listen.”

“ _ No. _ ” Quentin sobbed.  _ No, enough. Enough _ . He shut his eyes tightly. “I don't want to think about Evan, I don't want to feel this anymore. I want to feel something else, I need –”  _ Please distract me, do something, make me feel something else, something, anything, please, please, please  _ –

He heard the slight change in Daken's breathing, heard Daken's heart hammering against his ear. He was suddenly, painfully hyperaware of how close they were, of Daken's warmth, of Daken's left leg brushing his right hip, of Daken's right knee brushing his right thigh.  _ Oh. I – I need _ –

“This?” It was a low murmur, and Quentin didn't immediately feel the lips, so lightly were they pressed on his hair.  _ Oh _ . Daken was pressing small, light kisses on his head, his hold weakened, almost not-there, as if he expected – or maybe wanted? – Quentin to bolt away.  _ Oh _ . Quentin raised his head and felt Daken's soft lips on his brow, on the tip of his nose, on his eyelids. “This.” It was so faint, an almost inaudible whisper. Daken traced a sideburn with his lips, left a trail of kisses on his cheek, on his jawline. “Do you need this?”  _ Oh _ . Quentin opened his eyes and his own flames around Daken's head looked like a halo, Daken's face wet with tears in the bright light that couldn't hide anything. So close, so close. His breath so warm against Quentin's lips; he brushed his nose against Quentin's and Quentin realised his own face was wet with tears, too. 

_ Yes. _

Quentin tilted his head up and kissed Daken.

_ Yes _ .

It was strange; he would have expected Daken to ravage him. When Hiro had kissed him, it had been open-mouthed and –  _ God, no,  _ no _ , don't think about Hiro, that's fucking _ creepy,  _ he was only a little child, Jesus fucking Christ  _ – 

Here was Daken, firm, present, a rock against which to crash.

_ Yes _ .

Here was Daken, holding him like a delicately carved antique statue, and he was just pressing small, faint kisses on Quentin's lips, the most delicate of brushes. Quentin ached for contact, ached for more; he raised a hand to cup Daken's face and Daken squeezed his shoulder; he pressed Daken's face against his own, and tried to gain entrance to his mouth, but Daken kept his lips closed and kept kissing him so gently, as if Quentin were a goddamn child, his hand brushing up Quentin's shoulder to clasp his neck. Quentin, frustrated, bit Daken's lower lip, and that surprised Daken long enough for Quentin to slide his tongue inside.

_ Oh, God, yes, I've been waiting for years  _ –

Daken turned his head away.

“No.”

Quentin opened his eyes; Daken's pupils were blown madly in the bright light of Quentin's flames.

“Why not?” Quentin murmured, and lightly passed his fingers over Daken's cheek. He got closer, brushed Daken's nose with his.

“You're devastated.”

“So are you.” Quentin left a kiss at the corner of Daken's mouth and Daken closed his eyes. “It's all right –”

“I don't want to use you.”

“You aren't. It's okay. I want this.” He forced Daken's head to turn, kissed him again, lightly, on the lips. And again. And again. 

Daken didn't kiss back, instead tilted back his head and rested his forehead on Quentin's. “I can't.”

“ _ Yes _ you can, yes –” Quentin placed his hand on the back of Daken's neck, cursing the fact his hair had been cut so short it was impossible to have a grasp at it, and dragged him down, kissed him, kissed him –

“You're,” a kiss, “too,” a kiss, “young,” a kiss, “Quentin,” a kiss, “Please –”

_ What? _ Quentin sniggered against Daken's lips. “I'm  _ way _ past age of consent, just so you know.” Why was Daken being so soft and considerate?

“Too young,” Quentin bit Daken's lip, harder this time, and that elicited a moan, the sound sending jolts up his spine.  _ Oh, yes.  _ “For me.” Daken tilted his head away, lip swollen. “It's not right for you,  _ I'm _ not – I don't want to –”

_ Really?  _ Quentin felt just a tiny bit annoyed.  _ I'm not a goddamn _ child. “Shit, I'll show you my ID later if it bothers you so much. I'm not a  _ kid _ , I'm thirty-one –”

“ _ No! _ ” Daken jerked away, a look of such devastation in his eyes that Quentin paused, fingers twitching on Daken's neck. “No. No. I'm not doing that, I'm not using you, I'm not using  _ this _ , I'm not –”

“Daken?”

“I'm _ not _ . I swear I'm not.” Daken was standing up. “I'm not him, I'm  _ not _ him.”

_ Romulus _ . Quentin felt the blood drain from his face.  _ Thirty-one? He snapped at the age.  _ Did the age mean something? _ Using  _ this?  _ This _ what?

Hiro sobbing convulsively in his arms.

_ He told him Logan-san killed our mother and then was so soft and Daken was so confused and he didn't understand and he  _ asked _ him to do things and – _

Quentin saw the situation from the outside, how Daken was seeing it: Quentin devasted about a death, Daken comforting him. Was Daken worried Quentin would think Daken was only playing with him? “You're not using me.” Quentin reached out and caught Daken's hands just as Daken was moving away. “You aren't.”

Daken stared down at him, down at their hands, and said, voice level: “Let go, Quentin-san. They will come out, I'll hurt you.”

Quentin felt as if Daken had just slapped him, hard, across the face. The words were the same as those uttered a lifetime ago, their use  _ not  _ a coincidence. He couldn't  _ breathe _ at the sheer, horrifying  _ wrongness _ of what Daken had said, of the  _ comparation _ Daken was implicitly making.  _ I  _ know _ what the fuck you are doing. _

“That was fucked up.” Quentin felt his lips curl up in a snarl. “That was a fucking  _ fucked up _ thing to say.”

Daken shut his eyes. “Let go of me.” It almost sounded as if he was begging.

“ _ No! _ ” Quentin snarled, and got up, pulling himself up by clutching Daken's hands. “I won't let you push me away just because you're fucking scared. I know you're not Romulus, you  _ aren't _ , this is different from what he did to you and you  _ know _ that.”

Daken opened his eyes again, and they were almost empty. Almost. “You don't know what you're talking about.” But, oh, he knew perfectly well that Quentin  _ did _ .

_ Things, things so horrifying, Quentin-san, he cracked him open and tortured him and fed him his own entrails even as he did those – those other things – and Daken just lay there and told him he loved him, how can someone be that cruel, how could Daken bear all that – _

Daken kept his voice level. “And it's not me you want. You want comfort and I can't give you that, Quentin. I'm incapable of –”

“ _ I _ decide what I want.” Quentin got closer. He held firmly Daken's wrists, knowing fully well Daken could have released himself if he had  _ really _ wanted to. Daken's eyes were still blown, his arms slack in Quentin's hold. “If I had wanted just a mindless fuck I would have made a pass at Broo.”

“No one is fucking  _ no one _ here.” 

“Not with that attitude, no.” Quentin got so close their chests were touching. “Didn't you say you wanted to  _ comfort _ me?”

“Stop it.”

“I'm not some delicate maiden. I told you I want this, I need –”  _ I need to stop thinking, please. I'm begging you _ . “I need  _ you _ .”

Daken's breath hitched. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“Maybe I want to be hurt. Fuck, maybe I want to fucking _ bleed _ . You can't decide for me.”

“And you can't decide for me.”

_ Oh, that's rich _ . Quentin let go of Daken's wrists and snatched his hips, dragged them forwards so that they were flush with his own.  _ I knew it _ . He looked down at Daken's blown eyes. “Look at me and tell me you don't want me, you accomplished liar. This,” he quoted as Daken had, and pushed against Daken, their heights mismatched, but similar enough that they could feel each other's hardness, “ _ This _ wasn't here before.”

Daken emitted a strangled, throaty moan and grasped Quentin's face with both hands. “ _ You. _ ”

“Yes? Tell me.” Quentin pushed again. Daken growled, his eyes blown in the light, his fingers grasping Quentin's hair, pulling.  _ Yes. Yes, yes, yes  _ – “I'm waiting.”

“You need to  _ shut up _ .” Daken reached up and kissed him, and this time it was far from gentle; it was sloppy and open-mouthed, it was teeth and tongue and a low, deep growl at the back of Daken's throat.  _ Yes, yes, yes, yes _ . Quentin pushed, and Daken walked backwards, dragging Quentin with him, till he hit something, fingers pulling Quentin's hair, tilting his head so and so, and Quentin let himself be guided in the kiss as he let his hands slide to the small of Daken's back and tugged at his shirt.

He had a hand down Daken's elegant trousers and was grasping a buttock when Daken pulled his head away by yanking his hair, and rested his forehead on Quentin's.

“I'm not using my pheromones.” He pinned his eyes on Quentin, and seemed so  _ earnest _ , and Quentin grinned and left a peck on his lips.

“I know that,” he reassured him.

Daken growled. “You  _ don't _ . You don't know that. You  _ can't! _ That's the problem, you see, Quentin? You can't  _ know _ that, you stupid, stupid child, you reckless idiot, you –”

_ Honestly _ . Quentin shut him up with a kiss. “I don't  _ care _ ,” he growled, and bit Daken's lips hard. “So what if you  _ are? _ ” He raised the hand not currently occupied and clasped Daken's neck. “I don't fucking  _ care _ .” He crushed his lips on him.  _ Let me forget, let me, let me _ –

Daken moaned and spread his legs, and Quentin slid between them, pressing Daken so hard to their support that Quentin felt his own knees scrape against it. It was so easy to forget about everything, even the thought someone could see them, but everyone was asleep and who cared anyway.

Daken yanked his hair again. “ _ What? _ ” Quentin growled, exasperated.

“I'm all for  _ kinky _ , Quentin, but I think this is Logan's tomb.”

“Oh, shit, sorry!” Quentin whipped his head around to check their surroundings, then flew them to the nearest tree – Daken's back slammed into it with a sickening sound. “ _ Shit _ , are you –” This time Daken shut  _ him _ up, devouring his mouth as he emitted small sounds at the back of his throat, sounds that were driving Quentin crazy. He managed to pull his hand away from Daken's trousers; it hurt from the collision with the tree, and he rested it for a moment against Daken's hip. It was shaking. He was shaking, they both were shaking –

Daken, yanking his hair none too gently, pulled his head backwards, so that Quentin found himself staring at the stars through the branches and the leaves, and then he attacked Quentin's throat with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth – _ oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, _ shit,  _ fuck  _ – Daken was licking with large swipes of his tongue, then little swirls, up to the hollow below Quentin's ear, down to the hollow of his shoulder, change to the other side, back up, down again, sucking at the tender flesh below his chin –  _ Christ, just like that. Do that again, please, please _ – Quentin found himself digging his fingers into Daken's shoulder, and he bucked his hips desperately against Daken, like a needy, awkward teenager, and Daken's mouth was everywhere on his throat, a fucking gift from heaven. Quentin couldn't breathe, he couldn't, but managed to muster up enough air to beg. “ _ Please, _ ” he whined.

Daken weakened his hold on Quentin's hair, caressed it as he pushed his head down to kiss him again, and this time it was slow and deep and so gentle and tender and passionate as he ran his hands down Quentin's back, as he settled them over Quentin's buttocks, as he spread his legs, Quentin sliding between them. Quentin needed air, needed to breathe, but he didn't want to leave Daken's mouth, he – Daken pushed against Quentin, and pushed Quentin against himself, and Quentin understood and ground back against him in earnest, rubbing their erections together through the layers of their clothes, bracing himself on the thick log, his palms scraping against the bark of the tree.  _ God. God, please, I _ –

His moans were swallowed by Daken's mouth as he came after just a few more thrusts, screeches in his ears that he shut down, supernovae on his underlids, and he opened his eyes immediately, aching to see Daken's face. Daken was still thrusting desperately against him with a broken rhythm, emitting little sounds, almost hiccups, seeking for a friction that evidently wasn't enough, eyes half-closed and cheeks flushed and he was fucking  _ beautiful _ . He was the most beautiful thing Quentin had ever laid eyes on, he was excruciating to behold, Quentin's own flames crowning him in glory. Quentin rubbed himself against him to help him finish, pressed him hard to the tree as Daken arched and whimpered; Quentin broke the kiss to move his lips to Daken's throat and lick him as well, and at the first swipe of tongue Daken yelped and thrust, once, and came with a shudder, hands tightening their hold on Quentin's buttocks, head falling on Quentin's shoulder.

Quentin pressed his forehead on the bark to steady himself as he lapped gently just below Daken's ear, tasting on his tongue the salt of Daken's sweat, and Daken was still shuddering, trembling with the afterwaves, rubbing his forehead on Quentin's shoulder. Quentin felt his hot breath on his chest, coming in quick, shallow gasps.

There was nothing else in the whole world, only their bodies pressed together and a thick scent; he didn't even know if they were emitting it or if it was the tree, the dew, the grass. He didn't want to ever leave, to ever think again, to ever move. He lowered a hand from the tree to grasp the back of Daken's neck, which was slick with sweat, and the hold was so slippery that he accidentally scratched Daken's nape. Daken moaned and bit him lightly on the chest through the fabric of his shirt, and his fingers weren't dug deeply in Quentin's flesh anymore, they were sliding up, settling on the small of Quentin's back, and Daken raised his head and rested it back on the tree, throat exposed to Quentin's licking.

“Quentin,” he whispered after a while, and it was spoken so haltingly that Quentin paused what he was doing and raised his head to look at Daken's face. His chest ached at the look in Daken's eyes, at the – he recognised it with shock as his heart skipped a beat –  _ tenderness _ in them.

“Yes.” He nudged Daken's nose with his own, and Daken closed his eyes and kissed him again, light, soft brushes like earlier, and Quentin felt his heart swell and float and ache, ache so much.

“I'm sorry,” Daken whispered against his lips, and Quentin paused.

“What?”

“I'm sorry I couldn't control myself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were here and you needed a friend and I needed, I  _ needed _ you and I twisted this so badly – I ruined everything –”

“No.”

“Because I can't  _ control _ myself.”

“Daken,  _ no _ .” Quentin kissed him again. “I told you I wanted this. You said you weren't using your pheromones, and I told you that even if you  _ were _ –”

“I wasn't.”

“Then what's the problem?” He cupped Daken's cheek. Daken's eyes fluttered open. “Hey?”

Daken looked so lost, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have, as if he was trying to process something. “I would – I would never –” He closed his eyes again and turned his head against Quentin's hand, kissed his palm. There was a bit of blood on it and Daken licked it clean. “The hold you have on me,” he murmured against his hand, and snorted quietly, and kept kissing lightly Quentin's hand.

Quentin blinked; there was something, something at the back of his mind, something his brain refused to elaborate. And at the same time a craving, a craving so desperate his chest was heaving.

“Stay,” he found himself saying, “Stay, please. Shit, don't make me beg. Bring your kids here, we'll protect them, I'll –”  _ I'll protect you. Big nasty villain that you are. Annihilator of government agencies. Yes. _ He bit down the hysterical laughter that was threatening to come out of his mouth. Daken didn't need  _ protection _ .  _ Don't leave again. Please _ .

“I need to be gone, Quentin.”

_ You'll disappear again. I know you will. I know you're in Japan, shit, but you can't be found there, you're a fucking  _ ghost _ , please, please – don't leave me thinking about Evan, I don't want to think about Evan, I need – shit, I need you. Please. _

Daken kissed his palm again, and opened his eyes, and they were so tired, so exhausted, and he wasn't looking at him, he was staring ahead. “Because I'm a trained dog,” he said, voice level, “And I don't know if this was just my conditioning.”

Conditioning? Quentin blinked.  _ No _ . And blinked again.  _ No _ . And blinked again, and again, and again.  _ No. No. No. _

He felt his own face, his own facial muscles paralise, as he could do nothing else than stare at Daken's set features, at Daken's eyes staring away.

_ Conditioning? _

_ Do you need this? _ and  _ No _ and  _ I can't _ and  _ Let go of me _ and  _ Stop it  _ and his eyes, his eyes so blown, and his arms _ slack _ , and –

_ Let go, Quentin-san. _

_ Quentin- _ san _. _

_ Oh. Oh, no. No. _

_ No. Oh, no, no – _

“Daken –” he choked out. He couldn't continue.  _ What do you mean, what – no. No. _

“So I need to be gone. I need to focus on Eike, and on my girl. She graduated, you know.” He smiled against Quentin's palm. “She's so smart.” He looked so proud, and Quentin was fighting the tears, trying to hold them back.  _ What have I  _ done _ to you? What have I _ –

Daken looked at him and there almost seemed to be something like an apology in his eyes, but then they were blank again. “Live your life, Quentin. Please?” He caressed his back and brought his hands to the back of Quentin's neck and brought him down for another kiss. It was the faintest brush, and then Daken's hands were on Quentin's chest, and he was pushing him away.

_ God, no _ . Daken walked past him, and Quentin hugged himself and turned.  _ No. God, no, no, no – _

He stared at Daken's back as he walked away, as he walked towards the woods; probably Laura had arranged a way for him to exit the property from there, probably that was how he had entered during the night, and  _ God, no, no, no. No. No.  _

He stared at Daken's back till he was no longer illuminated by the light of Quentin's flames, till he was out of sight, and Quentin was alone on the lawn, alone in the darkness, alone in front of the tombs,  _ No. No. No. No. _

He waited, waited for Daken to come back, for Daken to smirk at him and say it was just a  _ joke _ , a sick, sick, the sickest joke.

He waited, and waited, and waited –

 

 

“So say my name  
And every color illuminates.  
And we are shining  
And we'll never be afraid again.  
Say my name  
As every color illuminates –  
We are shining:  
And we will never be afraid again.”

Florence + the Machine – _Spectrum_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The opera quoted by Daken is _Madama Butterfly_ by Giacomo Puccini. Not something Logan should have brought Daken to see, no.]
> 
> Thanks for reading ^3^ 
> 
> The next installment, _I want to hold you to the sun_ , will mark the end of _**We shall burn**_. Another timejump is coming – five years – but this time we'll stay around for a lot of time. Get ready for a long, long, _long_ ride u.u 
> 
> Till next time then ^-^


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